


The Devil Within

by AvariciousAmbitions



Series: Aftermath [1]
Category: Class (TV 2016), Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Eventual Murder, I'm not sorry, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It gets pretty dark, Matti is the only good person here, Mild Gore, Possession, Post-Canon, The Doctor is barely in it, Violence, and the OCs are irrelevant, my attempt to revive this dead fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22187890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvariciousAmbitions/pseuds/AvariciousAmbitions
Summary: Matteusz was fine with being ignored. He didn't mind being used. As long as he could pretend to be loved, he would cope with anything.  He carried others' burdens and hoped that one day they might help him in return. But with the Shadow Kin gone, he's cast out by the people he thought were his friends and left to watch them heal without him. Now, a new horror has crawled out of the rift and threatens to hunt them all down. With no one left to listen to him, Matteusz has to face his demons alone and fight the monster he is becoming.
Series: Aftermath [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597186
Comments: 36
Kudos: 15





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> There are two things I enjoy doing in fanfiction:  
> 1) Torturing my favourite characters  
> 2) Having my favourite characters torture other people  
> Now I get to do both.
> 
> Also, if you came to this story looking for 13, she's barely in this. Feel free to stick around, though.  
> Reviews and comments are always appreciated.

> "Was I unneeded?
> 
> Was I just in the way too?"

* * *

_Tick tick, tick tick_

For some reason, there were two different clocks in the room. Each one out of sync with the other, less than half a second apart. Like a human heartbeat.

_Tick tick_

Matteusz hated it. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the woman opposite him, his attention was drawn back to that ticking. It made his head feel cloudy and his chest tighten as he gripped the armrests of his chair. He felt the panic rising again, flooding his throat and paralyzing his limbs. Each tick of the clock hurled his mind back to a time and a place he wanted to forget.

_Tick tick_

_Home with his parents. His real home back in Poland. Hearing his father scream at him from the other side of the bedroom door. His cheek still red from where the book had hit him. A leather-bound bible. His tears warm against his face as he cried. Barely seven years old._

_Tick tick_

_Standing in a crowd of children. His new classmates. All of them seemed to stare at him as they walked past. Their words made no sense to him. Another example of his failure, not even understanding English yet. Nowhere was safe. Not here with their judgemental eyes. Not home with his parents. Nowhere._

_Tick tick_

_Another crowded room. This time at prom. His heart was so warm he could swear it was glowing. All around him were fresh-faced Sixth Formers dancing with their partners. But none were as fresh as Charlie. His date. So radiant. So beautiful. Perfect in every way. Until he ran off with some other friends. The warmth died. He was alone._

_Tick tick_

_In his room again. Grounded for taking a boy to the dance. His parents screaming. More tears spilling down his cheeks. And something else. Something warm dripping down his arm. Something red. He hated himself for doing it. But it felt so good._

_Tick tick_

_In that classroom. Holding the stone. Everyone staring. Everyone judging. They hated him. Just like they’d always hated him. Why? What had he ever done to them?_

_Tick tick_

_The Shadow Kin’s blade on his neck. Any moment it could slide along his throat and he would die right there on the ground. In front of everyone. In front of Charlie. Then they would notice him. They might even care. He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life._

_Tick tick_

_Sleeping in the car. So cold. So lonely without Charlie. But Charlie didn’t want him anymore. Nobody did._

_Tick tick_

_Another classroom. Alone again. A rift opening. Nobody to hear him scream. Trying to run. That light coming closer. Coming for him. Cold. Lonely. Angry. Afraid. No time to react before it-_

“Matteusz!” 

The voice snapped him out of his daze. His heart was racing, his breathing shallow. Across the small room, he saw the woman looking at him, her soft, brown eyes wide with concern. She reached for the water jug on the table beside them. 

“Are you ok?” She asked, pouring him a glass. He waited for his breathing to calm and his hands to stop shaking. He was ok. He could breathe again. Nodding, but not with much confidence, he took the glass the woman offered him. Vicky. Her name was Vicky.

“Sorry,” Matteusz said after a long drink. His voice sounded hoarse and shaky, but at least he could speak. 

“You don’t have to apologise,” Vicky said, her face still fixed in that careful neutrality. “Is something making you uncomfortable?”

He glanced at the two clocks, considering if it was worth the effort in taking them down. 

“No.” He said after a moment’s pause. “I was distracted.”

“That’s ok,” Vicky said, smiling at last. “These sessions are for you, remember. If you’d rather I just listen to you, then that’s what we’ll do.” She was a good counsellor, albeit the only one Matteusz had ever met before. She listened, never judging him for his emotions or telling him what to do. She just offered him time to talk. Having a place to go, even once a week, made him feel just a little safer. It was about the only good thing in his life anymore.

“Do you want to tell me what you were thinking about?” Vicky asked, a lock of auburn hair falling in front of her face as she shifted her chair closer to him. “Your family? Friends?”

“They’re not my friends anymore.” Matteusz found himself saying before he had a chance to stop. “They don’t like me.”

“Why would you think that?”

Again, his response came before he could think. “Because they keep telling me.” His mind ran through all the times he’d spent with them. He wanted to think of nice things, kind words and reassurances, but all he found were cruel, snide comments.

_Stupid!_

_Who are you anyway?_

_Why are you always hanging around with us?_

_You’re just afraid of me._

He felt a lump form in the back of his throat, and he had to fight to repress a choked sob. They had never treated him like an equal, and yet he still missed them.

“I’m lonely.” He said. “I think I was always lonely, even when they were with me...but now it’s worse.” He dug his nails into his palm, sending a sharp pain through his hand. A pain that struck the numbness out of him. “Like I don’t even exist anymore.” He looked up at Vicky, at her calm face and safe eyes, and felt all his words die away. “I can’t really explain. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to,” Vicky reassured him. “You’ve been through a lot these last few weeks. It’s perfectly reasonable to feel overwhelmed.” She took his empty glass and began to fill it again. He didn’t protest. “Have you thought about talking it through with someone at home?”

Matteusz wanted to tell her that there was no home, at least not one where anyone wanted him, but he didn’t feel like starting another long discussion. 

“Everyone is busy.” He said. “They have their own problems. And everybody at my real home hates me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Vicky said, but the conviction had left her voice.

Matteusz almost scoffed at her. “My father thinks I’m the Devil, and my mother barely looks at me. They don’t care.”

Vicky said nothing, reaching a hand out to rest on his knee. Matteusz didn’t mind, there was nothing left to be said. 

Vicky glanced at the ticking clocks. “I think that might be us done for the week.” She said. Each time they met she said the same thing, and each time her sadness sounded genuine. It made Matteusz feel a little brighter knowing that at least someone enjoyed his company. 

“Is there anything else you wanted to add?” She asked as she moved towards the door. He had told her so much - about his parents, about his friends, about Charlie - and yet she knew so little. She could never know about the things he had seen, or the monsters he had faced. She might think he was mad, or so desperate for attention that he was making the whole thing up. That thought took the sheen off their sessions together. The only person in the world who cared enough to listen to him, and he couldn’t even tell her the truth. He looked to the two clocks, watching them tick one after the other. He cast his gaze back to her, and then to the four pale figures standing behind her.

“No,” He said, unable to take his eyes off them.

* * *

Nobody else could see them. He’d worked that out after less than a day. Everywhere he went, no matter what time of day, they followed him. They were all different, some male, some female, some that didn’t even resemble people. But they all had the same grey skin, the same blank, white eyes, and the same vacant expressions. It was like looking at a black and white photo, as if all the colour had been drained out of them. Most of the time, they just watched him, unmoving, unblinking. People passed by without even glancing at them, walking right through them as if they were ghosts. But to Matteusz, they were real. And they were everywhere. As he walked away from the counsellor’s office, out into the crowded, rushing street, there were seven of them dotted around. Two across the road, two behind him, and three spread out on the path ahead. They were different from the figures in the office. He had seen so many of them over the past week that he was even beginning to recognise some of the faces. The ones that looked the least human were the easiest to recognise, but even the humanoids had some level of familiarity to him. He didn’t know what they were, or what they wanted, or why he was the only one who could see them. But he knew they were dangerous. They triggered a repressed emotion deep within him, a cold, empty feeling settled in his chest. Like a chasm opening into nothing, waiting for him to fall into its depths. 

He passed the first three figures without incident. Even with his gaze fixed on the ground, he could feel their eyes turning to follow him as he passed. The cold blossomed further, swallowing his entire body, and he shuddered, quickening his pace. People hurried by him on their way home from work, twisting and weaving around him. He tried to fix his gaze on their faces instead, but somewhere in the crowd another pale figure would appear, and his whole body went numb. He had to think of something else, to take his mind off the looming presence ahead of him. He thought about his lessons in school that day, about the homework he’d been given. Menial things, but distracting. Even with his best efforts, it was never enough. Inevitably, his mind wandered back to Charlie.

Since the incident with the Cabinet of Souls, Charlie had become distant, unresponsive, an empty shell of his old self. In the three weeks that followed, Matteusz hadn’t seen him speak a word. He seemed to spend all day in bed, with the curtains drawn and the door shut. It wasn’t unreasonable, not in the slightest. He was still blaming himself for what happened to April. Every day with no sign of her, or word from The Doctor, just made the situation worse. That much made sense. But there was a small part of Matteusz, locked somewhere deep away, that resented him for it. He knew it was Charlie’s way of working through grief, but why did he feel the need to shut everyone else out? Why did he refuse help, why ignore his own boyfriend? No matter how hard Matteusz tried to rationalise things, the worse he felt. 

_He’s just being selfish._

The thought came without warning and struck him so hard he stumbled over a crack in the road. He knew thoughts like these well. He’d been having them more frequently since his encounter with the rift. Angry, bitter thoughts. Always lashing out at those around him. He tried to rein them in, but more rushed him, fast and violent.

_It’s just self-pity. He doesn’t want help. He just wants everyone to stand around and feel sorry for him, just like they always do. He’s a prince who always gets what he wants._

He walked faster like he was trying to outrun his own mind. He felt his heart hammering again, blood pounding in his ears. The panic came flooding over him. The cold. The emptiness. A chasm in his soul. Falling.

Someone grabbed his wrist. No, not someone, something. He jolted, turning to see the grey, sunken face staring back at him. Its eyes were empty, clouded over like murky water. Its cheekbones were almost hollow. The face was so pale that dark veins popped from beneath, so thin and gaunt that every bone was perfectly outlined beneath the surface. As soon as those eyes fixed on him, everything stopped. His lungs wouldn’t work. His heart froze. His body felt like ice. The chasm split further, leading down to the abyss below. He was locked in place, staring the figure down as it held him. Then another jolt. Something slammed into him from the side, knocking him off balance.

“Watch where you’re going!” Came the angry yell from somewhere behind him. Matteusz turned, regaining his composure. Just an angry commuter. Nothing special. He turned back, searching for the figure again, but there was no trace of it anywhere. His chest tightened as he held his wrist, examining it for marks or injuries, but there was nothing. Without giving himself time to worry, he set back off. The feeling of his school bag on his back and his overnight bag over one shoulder kept him grounded, focussing his mind on getting away. But he couldn’t escape the distinct possibility that it was all in his head. He didn’t know whether that made him feel better or worse. Either he was being hunted by aliens or he was going insane. Or, even worse, both.

He ran the rest of the way home. He didn’t care about the looks from passers-by, all that mattered was getting home. Even if he didn’t know where home was, or if it even wanted him. Running made him feel safe, gave his body a release for all that tension. Minutes passed like seconds. He didn’t know how long the run took him, and he didn’t much care. All he could hear was the sound of his shoes pounding against the pavement. This was good. This was normal. By the time he reached the door, he could feel the sweat on his forehead. He reached for the door, hesitating for the briefest of moments before touching the handle. He braced himself for what was to come. The lectures from Quill. The silence from Charlie. He didn’t know which hurt him more.

_It’s not worth it._

He took a deep breath in and went inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracks:  
> (Title) The Devil Within - Digital Daggers  
> (Chapter One) Hitorinbo Envy English Cover (Acoustic version) - Jubyphonic


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sticking to one update a week for now, but feel free to let me know if you'd like more.

> "And I guess I didn't matter to you.
> 
> The worst part? I always knew."

* * *

“You took your time.” 

Quill sat on the sofa with a book on her lap and a bar of chocolate to one side. The TV played the reruns of the morning news broadcast, something about a break-in. Whatever it was, she wasn’t paying attention. Matteusz didn’t even need to look at her to know she was scowling. She always seemed to scowl these days.

“I went out.” He said, not looking at her. He knew she wouldn’t have even glanced at him as he entered and he didn’t feel like extending politeness to someone who didn’t want it. This was the arrangement they had come to since he had left, a mutual agreement not to care about each other. Quill had always been far better at it than Matteusz.

He moved straight to the kitchen, loading the washing machine with yesterday’s clothes. Getting his own chores sorted as quickly as possible left him with more time to do everybody else’s. He knew well by now they wouldn’t do it themselves. As usual, Quill had left her laundry in two piles on the counter, ready for him to sort through. He allowed himself a small sigh of frustration before he went back to work. She at least had the decency to separate the lights and darks. Leaving the door open, he flicked on the small kettle by the sink and waited for the inevitable.

“Milk, no sugar.” Came Quill’s voice, again not even looking at him. “And warm up a bottle while you’re up there.”

Now Matteusz did turn to look at her.

“She’s your child, not mine.” He said, trying to keep his voice level. Quill rolled her eyes as she made her way up to the kitchen. Matteusz had only seen Quill’s baby a few times since The Doctor had brought them back from the ‘best hospital in the galaxy’, enough to know that the newborn resembled her father more than Quill. He didn’t even know if she had a name - Quill always shut down his attempts to ask. 

“You won’t be snarking like that when you have a family of your own.” She said, her words clipped and curt. 

“You mean ‘if’.”

Quill scoffed. “Such a pessimist.”

“This coming from you,” Matteusz said, leaning against the counter. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a moment to relax. At best, he caught fragments like these a few times a day. His weekdays were spent cramming his mountains of homework into his few study periods, his evenings gave way to cleaning up after Charlie and Quill. His nights were restless, laden with dreams that shocked him awake in the early hours of dawn. Eventually, something had to give. He couldn’t afford the time to rest anymore.

“Why don’t you go and check on the prince?” Quill said with a careless shrug. It was less of a suggestion and more of a demand to be left alone. Matteusz eyed the entrance to the hallway. Every time he saw Charlie in that vacant, empty state, it became harder not to lose his nerve completely. Despite everything that had happened between them, he still loved Charlie more than anything. When things had been good, the world had come together, and everything seemed to make sense. Every dark moment in Matteusz’s life had been worth it for the times he and Charlie had been happy. Now, it was as if those days had never even happened. At least not to Charlie. But thinking like that made the pain worse. Matteusz knew that now was the time to be strong. With his help, Charlie would heal. Things could go back to normal. As painful as it was, it was necessary. Without saying a word, he left Quill alone in the kitchen and made his way up the stairs.

* * *

As always, the room was dark. It was hard to imagine that he and Charlie had ever slept together in this room. With the curtains and blinds drawn and the floor covered with discarded clothes, it seemed unfamiliar. Almost unwelcoming. Charlie sat at the desk, staring into the blank computer screen, still and silent. Barely even a sign of life, except for the soft, almost unnoticeable sounds of breathing. Matteusz crossed the room, keeping his steps soft and light. He picked up the scattered laundry as he did, leaving them in a pile at the foot of the unmade bed. “We had a test today.” He said, almost in a whisper. Charlie gave no indication that he’d even seen Matteusz come in, which wasn’t unusual. But Matteusz spoke anyway. If nothing else, it gave the illusion of friendship. “The new physics teacher is nice. I think you would like him.” He started straightening the corners of the duvet, accustomed by now to working in the dark. “He is much nicer than Quill. But I guess that isn’t hard.” Reaching behind the curtains, he opened one of the windows just enough to let in the fresh air from outside. “We have a new headteacher, too. She is also from the Governors, or at least she said she was.” Nobody had been surprised by Dorothea’s mysterious disappearance, least of all Matteusz. Like almost everyone else, he had been suspicious of her. Most of their friendship group seemed to have accepted that she was dead; no sudden absences from Coal Hill were ever something as mundane as a change in jobs. Still, whatever had happened to her, Matteusz hoped she hadn’t suffered too much.

Once the room was acceptably tidy, Matteusz sat on the corner of the bed, his eyes fixed on Charlie’s silhouette. He was already running out of things to say. He didn’t like holding these one-way conversations, but he hoped deep down that once he found the right thing to say, he could make Charlie feel at least a little better. So far, all his attempts had failed. He had started out trying to reassure Charlie that none of this was his fault, that the Shadow Kin had been the ones to invade. He even forgave Charlie for using the Cabinet, even though it went against every moral fibre of his being. He’d done and said everything he could think of, given every reassurance, and promised Charlie anything if he would just say something. But every attempt had been met with silence. So he’d changed tactic, started talking about everything else. School stuff, things in the news, even stories from his childhood. Something had to work. There had to be something Matteusz could say that would make everything alright. He had promised to be there for Charlie, to find him when he lost himself. And that’s what had to be done.

“I never thought I would run out of things to say to you,” Matteusz said, at last. “I thought to myself when we met that I could just sit and talk with you for hours. I liked it when you listened to me.” He ran his fingers across the duvet in light, absent strokes as he spoke. “I liked listening to you more, though. I liked hearing your stories. You had this way of making me feel like I had known you all my life.” He smiled at the memory. “Sometimes, and I never told you this, I would go home and write the things you told me. Make them into stories of my own.”

He let the thought stay with him for a while. He felt himself relaxing, leaning back a little. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine things were normal again. “Everyone else had their talents. I always felt like if I told you about the things I like then you might think...I don’t know. Maybe that I was copying you? Or making things up to fit in. I feel like Ram would think that. Maybe Tanya as well.” A shudder ran through him. Every time he thought of Ram and Tanya, it was as if he shrank into himself. Like he was preparing for them to appear out of nowhere and scoff at him. Even when they had been friends, being around them had made him nervous. Like he wasn’t supposed to be there.

_ They’re selfish. Arrogant. Cruel. They deserve everything they got. _

The thought was so vivid, he could almost hear it whispering to him. He felt something, a presence behind him. He turned, locking eyes with another pale, skeletal face. Even in the darkness, he could see it clear as day. He shot upright, stumbling back over the pile of laundry. His lungs felt empty, his heart seemed like a lead weight inside him. The cold. The dark. Opening up into the abyss. By the time he regained his balance, the face was gone, vanishing into the shadows. He wanted to bolt out right then and there, but his legs threatened to buckle beneath him. He turned. Charlie hadn’t even flinched, like he hadn’t noticed the sudden panic. Matteusz swallowed, trying to force air into his lungs. He picked up the laundry, leaving the room without looking back.

* * *

Quill was back on the sofa again, this time with the sleeping baby cradled in her arms. She glared at Matteusz as he entered, a silent demand for quiet that still managed to carry that air of complete authority. Matteusz didn’t care. He wasn’t in the mood to speak anymore. He grabbed whatever he could from the cupboards and set about making himself something to eat. Anything to take his mind off that face. The whirring of the washing machine and the drone of the TV blocked out any more unwelcome thoughts. Yet he still couldn’t get the tension out of his muscles. His movements felt erratic, almost violent, as he threw together a small sandwich. He didn’t have the appetite for much else anymore. He tried to think about everything he needed for tomorrow. He’d left Charlie’s room without picking up a change of clothes, which left him with whatever he’d thrown in the wash earlier. He couldn’t bring himself to go back in there, even if it meant sleeping in what he was wearing. The thought of sleeping sent another wave of dread running through him. The spare keys to his cousin’s car felt heavy in his pocket like they were taunting him. The car may have been a roof over his head, but it wasn’t much else. Of course, he couldn’t ask Quill to stay here, either. At least not now. She had little patience for him at the best of times. 

Every option seemed like a bad one. Go back into Charlie’s room, or wear damp, unironed clothes. Ask Quill for help, or sleep in a tiny, freezing car. Try to somehow reconnect with what remained of his friendship group, or spend the rest of his time at high school alone. No matter what he did, he always seemed to end up with the worst possible outcome.

_ As usual. _

His life seemed to be falling apart right in front of him, and he was helpless to stop it.

_ Again. _

No one around him even paid him a second thought anymore.

_ Did they ever? _

Maybe Dorothea had it easy. At least she was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracks:  
> (Chapter Two) 1/4 - VocaCircus ft. KAITO
> 
> (Can you tell I'm Vocaloid trash yet?)  
> As always, comments are appreciated. :-)


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Mentions of self-harm/suicide.
> 
> It's in the tags, y'all.

> "Why wasn't I good enough?
> 
> Guess I just don't mean much"

* * *

_ He knew it was a dream. The same dream as always. The classroom, quiet and lonely. The world outside, dark - covered by a thick cloud of night. Noises drowning his thoughts, but not the familiar noise of his music. A mass of indistinct whispering. Dozens of voices, each with their own pitch, their own tone, even their own language. The test paper in front of him was covered in scrawled writing. It was his own, without a doubt, but there was nothing recognisable as a letter or a word. Frantic scratchings of pencil and pen cut through printed equations. He couldn’t focus. He was seeing too much, hearing too much, feeling too much. There was something behind him. He knew it was there - he could sense it - but his body wouldn’t move. He sat in the chair, frozen still. The whisperings got louder as the presence came closer. He saw the light, glowing a blinding white in the corner of his eye. Coming for him. Closer. Closer still. Any minute it would find him. Then came the cold. First along his spine, then at the back of his neck. Then inside him, in his throat and spreading. Down to his chest, getting stronger, colder. Still spreading. Cold and empty and numb, like a void sucking out all the feeling. The chasm in his mind, opening into nothing, pulling him down. Down. Further down. Just as something else began creeping up. _

He didn’t realise he was screaming until he was bolt upright. He sat with his legs sprawled across the back seat of the car, curling to give him more room. Despite the chill that had settled, he could feel the sweat clinging to his forehead. He tried to keep his breathing measured, but panic had a tight grip over his heart. He was safe. He knew nothing could get to him here, but that didn’t stop him from being afraid. He reached around, grasping at the passenger’s seat before he found his phone. Still working. He blinked under the strain of the screen’s light, squinting at the time display.

5:43 am

He cursed to himself. For over a week, every night had been the same. The nightmares, the awful, inhuman figures, even those low, whispering voices. They had all started after that evening alone in the classroom. And they were getting worse.

He stretched as much as he could in the confined space of the car, cracking his neck to loosen the aching tightness in his muscles. Every morning the pain seemed worse than he had remembered, but he forced himself to open the door and swing his legs out onto the pavement. The cold night air hit him like a brick wall square in the chest, chilling him even through his jacket. Walking around the back and opening up the boot, he grabbed his bags. He threw his school bag over one shoulder and held the overnight bag firmly in his grip. He shut the car doors, dropped the keys into his pocket, and sighed. Every night spent sleeping in that car was another reminder of how much he missed Charlie. Sometimes, he felt as if that absence of warmth hurt more than any beating he’d ever taken in his childhood. But at least he wasn’t faced with the constant reminder of Charlie’s absence. He couldn’t say for certain, but Matteusz imagined that lying next to that still, distant figure would chill him more than even the coldest of nights. No matter which option he considered, he still seemed to lose out.

* * *

By the time he arrived at Coal Hill Academy, it was just past 6:00 am. An old cleaner glanced at him as he made his way to the main entrance, smiling in that sad, pitying way Matteusz was so used to seeing - usually aimed at someone other than him. He flashed a keycard against the reader, and the door opened with a soft click. If he had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near the building for another two hours, but after all his disagreements with Charlie and Quill, he’d been left practically homeless. The school had taken pity on him, just like they had with the few other students without a decent home to go to. As long as there were other people there, cleaners or janitors, he was welcome any time he wanted. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but at least it gave him somewhere to eat and to clean himself up. It was warm, safe, and comfortable enough that he didn’t complain. Not out loud.

He headed straight to the boys’ changing room, leaving his school things on an empty peg. From the overnight bag, he grabbed his change of clothes, a towel, and a small bottle of shampoo, leaving the rest of the contents inside. Even during one of the lowest times in his life, he insisted on keeping himself clean. It was the kind of false normalcy that kept him sane throughout the endless hours of isolation. He folded the fresh clothes on the bench and stuffed his old ones in the bag, wrapping the towel around himself. He’d never seen anyone else in the showers at this kind of time, but it never hurt to be cautious. Every morning, he tried to use the time under the spray of hot, calming water to block all the nagging fears from his mind. He stopped thinking about the Cabinet, about Charlie, Quill, his friends, his parents, or even the grey figures. It was a time to think about nothing but himself, as he washed off all the remnants of the previous day. Ten minutes of peace before he let everyone else’s problems take over his life again. This time, he found himself fixating on his arms. The afternoon in the counsellor’s office had reminded him of some of his worst and darkest moments, all immortalised on his skin. Some were less noticeable, faded lines along his forearm, or raised white ridges below his shoulder. These were relics of his distant past, like fossils he couldn’t bury. Some were clearer, angry and tender. Fresh terrors that still hadn’t healed. When he closed his eyes, he saw a sea of red. Seventeen years of pain spilling out from his arms and swirling down the drain below him. Not one person had ever noticed them. They were his little secret.

Once he was clean and dry, he changed into his fresh set of clothes. While they were at least dry, they were still creased and scruffy. He cursed himself for not ironing them when he had the chance. Taking the toothpaste and brush from the overnight bag, he went to the sink at the very back of the room. Boring and mindless, but at least close to normal. As he finished up, washing the brush under the flow of cold water, he glanced up into the mirror, locking eyes on the faces staring back at him. He screamed, stumbled back. It couldn’t be. He refused to believe it. But there it was. The mirror was filled not by his own reflection, but a dozen gaunt, pale figures staring out into nothingness. His body froze. The figures in the mirror didn’t move, they just glared into the distance. He took a tentative step back, waiting for them to make a move towards him. But they stayed unresponsive. So much so that, for a moment, Matteusz was convinced he was imagining it. That if he kept calm they would just fade away. If he didn’t panic, he would be ok.

He went to back away again when something grabbed him by the shoulder. He cried out, trying to turn and see whatever was holding him. But he felt another hand gripping his hair. Then one on his arm, then his ankle, and around his mouth. His scream was stifled by the hands that seemed to be grasping every spare inch of him. There was no sign of anyone there, not even a glimpse out of the corner of his eye. But he felt them. Not just their touch, but their presence. Then he heard the whispering. The same voices from his dream, a mass of indistinct noise swirling around his mind. As his panic rose, the voices grew louder. Lights flickered above his head. Doors rattled and windows shook, but they barely registered over the screaming in his head. Only the faces, the hands and the voices mattered anymore. His heart dropped in his chest like he was falling. Falling down into the chasm where the darkness was waiting. The darkness, and something else, waiting for him. Just when he thought his knees were about to buckle beneath him, everything stopped. He gasped for breath as he was released from the crushing grip. The lights stopped flickering. The mirror was as ordinary as it had always been. He didn’t wait for himself to calm down. He just grabbed his bags and bolted from the room. He didn’t dare look back. He had no idea what he might see if he did.

* * *

By the time he reached the main corridor, he felt his pace begin to slow. There were cleaners dotted all around the building, washing floors and polishing glass. The last thing he wanted was to make a fool of himself. Every sudden noise or passing footstep sent his heart racing, but he forced himself to stay focused. He went straight to the lockers, fishing the key from the pocket of his school bag. He opened the door and tossed the overnight bag inside, ready to collect as he left at the end of the day. As he went to close the locker, he caught sight of the pictures on the inside of the door, stuck with tiny pieces of tape. The first was a picture of the group, one he’d taken at a trip to the coffee shop. Ram and April sat with their arms around one another, Tanya and Charlie smiling beside them. He noticed Tanya’s expression in particular. His clearest memory of that day came a few seconds after he had taken the picture. They had locked eyes for the briefest of moments, and that smile of hers had vanished. The other picture, fixed in the middle of the locker, was the result of the time he’d taught Charlie about selfies. Charlie hadn’t quite got the hang of it, spending most of the time looking into their faces on the screen rather than the camera, but the smiles they both wore had been genuine. Even now, Matteusz couldn’t help but laugh as he remembered that day. He pulled both pictures down off the door and slipped them into his bag, careful not to tear the edges.

“What are you doing here?”

The voice caught Matteusz by surprise, and he cried out, hitting his head on the locker door as he turned around. When he looked back, he saw Tanya staring back at him, her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

“What?” He said, unable to think of anything else. 

“I said, what are you doing here? Why are you here so early?” Tanya bit back, her voice curt and agitated.

Matteusz was at a loss for words. He felt as if he were being interrogated. He wrung his hands, a sudden urge to twitch overwhelming him.

“Because they let me?” He said, almost like a question.

Tanya seemed to consider this for a moment. Her posture loosened as she shrugged, but her gaze hardened, like a hunter cornering her prey.

“I thought you were staying with Charlie and Quill.” Her tone was quieter now, but still every bit as cold. If she hadn’t been interrogating him before, she definitely was now,

“No,” Matteusz said without even thinking. Then he faltered. “They...they don’t want me there right now.”

Tanya’s response was almost imperceptible. She didn’t say a word. If Matteusz hadn’t been paying attention, he would have missed it. But he’d been watching every shift of her posture and analysing every change in tone, desperate to read her expression. He saw it, clear as day. Tanya rolled her eyes.

She didn’t say another word, turning to go. Despite her blunt demeanour, Matteusz wanted her to stay. It was as if her presence offered him a lifeline. One last chance for salvation.

“Wait,” He called, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. He didn’t miss the groan that followed.

“What? What do you want now?” Now there was a bite to her tone, a clipped hostility to her words that almost made Matteusz shrink back. As he watched her glowering at him, he felt all his courage evaporate. 

_ Why even bother? She doesn’t care. _

“I need your help.” He said, nearly choking on the words. 

Tanya narrowed her eyes, moving closer. “With what?”

Ignoring the scepticism in her voice, he carried on. If he didn’t say it now, he might never get the chance again. “Last week, in one of the classrooms,” he pointed down the corridor to the room in question “a rift opened. I think something might have-”

“No.” 

The word was so sharp it made his voice sputter and die in his throat. “What?” Again, it was his only response.

“No. I’m not doing that stuff anymore.” Tanya snapped, backing further away. “After everything that happened, there’s no way in hell I’m dealing with aliens again.”

Matteusz couldn’t help but flinch at the word “hell”, something that had stayed with him even after leaving his parents’ house.

“But-” He started before Tanya cut him off.

“No buts. No more aliens. I’m done with giving up my life to fight against these stupid rifts! If you want to save the world, then do it yourself.” She didn’t shout, she couldn’t have done without drawing the attention of the cleaners, but her words still hit their mark directly in his heart. 

“Not even for a friend?” He asked, so quiet he was almost whispering. 

Tanya scoffed. “We’re not friends, Matteusz. We never were.” Without giving him a chance to reply, Tanya turned and stalked her way down the corridor. Matteusz couldn’t do anything but stand there, dumbfounded. He felt as if the floor were collapsing beneath him, or the ceiling crumbling above his head. A lump clung to the back of his throat, and he had to stifle a sob that threatened to tear its way out of his chest. He watched Tanya go, waiting until she turned into one of the empty classrooms. He wasn’t even aware of where he was going, he just let his feet take him wherever they pleased.

* * *

He hadn’t cried since Charlie had used the Cabinet. After everything he’d seen, all he’d been through with Charlie, and his parents before that, tears felt special. No pain ever felt good enough to warrant them anymore. But when he heard those voices creeping up in his mind, he couldn’t hold back any longer. Crying didn’t stop the voices, if anything it made them louder, but there was something cathartic about the feeling of warm tears against his cheeks, and the desperate, gasping breaths he took between sobs. He didn’t know what the tears were even for. On the one hand, he felt so desperate and hopeless that life almost didn’t seem worth living. He was lost, drowning in a sea of his own despair, with no hope of escape. On the other, a white-hot, bitter anger burned somewhere deep down inside him. Why did nobody ever notice him? Why was it that he was always expected to deal with other people’s problems, yet no one ever bothered to help him? The more he cried, the more the anger began to swallow him whole, burning away at his insides and leaving him cold and empty. The voices grew louder, more distinct. The lights in the room flickered, pulsing brighter and brighter. His vision blurred by tears, he lashed out, slamming his foot into the door as hard as he could, screaming in frustration. As he felt the smack of his shoe against the wood, the lights burst into sparks, the bulbs exploding in their sockets. The shock brought him back to his senses. He stared at the door, breathing through gritted teeth. The anger dwindled, and the voices began to fade along with it. As they dissipated into nothing, he managed to catch just one word.

_ Kill. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracks:  
> (Chapter Three) Poison (Thanks for Nothing) - Jayn (2017 Version)  
> Not even sure if I like this song but it fits perfectly for the chapter so I guess it goes in.


	4. Four

> "You left me all alone.
> 
> I should have known better"

* * *

Forgetting his confrontation with Tanya had been far easier than he would have liked. He felt as if it should have stayed with him, resonated with him on a deeper level. But as he found himself lost amongst the crowds of students, the entire morning became so distant it was as if it hadn’t happened at all. Instead, his mind was occupied by physics. Losing Quill to her sudden maternity leave had left a gaping void in their lessons. The new teacher was doing his best, but with his lanky frame and thinning hair, he lacked the chaotic energy Quill brought with her wherever she went. An unremarkable man with an unremarkable appearance, and even an unremarkable name, Mr Saunders. But he was kind in a way that Quill had never managed to be. Even now, as he handed back their graded test papers, he smiled at every student, congratulating those who scored well and consoling those who hadn’t. After the living hell that had been the past few weeks, it was refreshing to see a halfway decent human being. Sometimes, Matteusz thought he liked not having Quill around anymore. The fewer people he had left to disappoint, the better.

His eyes followed Mr Saunders from table to table, watching each individual student get their papers back. All except for two. When Saunders passed by Ram and Tanya, Matteusz averted his gaze, staring into his desk with all the intent he could muster. He may not have cared much about Tanya anymore, but locking eyes with Ram could make him freeze and burn all at the same time. Those cruel, piercing eyes stirred in him an emotion that Matteusz didn’t even understand. It consumed every inch of him, like a raging wildfire. One part fear, an urge to run as fast as he could in the opposite direction, and one part fury, the desire to fight and to shout every bitter thought he’d ever had. Not even his father had made him feel that way, a pious moron who believed he could beat the demons out of his son. Ram exuded hate like an aura. Like a poison that tipped every word from his mouth.

_ Who are you, anyway? Why are you always hanging around with us? _

Even now, Matteusz still didn’t know the answer.

His thoughts were interrupted by Mr Saunders setting a paper down on the desk before him. When their eyes met, Saunders gave him a warm smile, the warmest Matteusz had ever seen him give.

“Good work,” Saunders said, his voice barely rising over the chatter of the classroom. “Really good work.”

He left without another word, and Matteusz turned the paper over in confusion. It was covered in his methodical writing. Symbols and measurements jumbled together, almost meaningless to him now. But next to each answer was a delicate, green tick. And at the bottom of the page, a carefully penned ‘100%’. He blinked. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten full marks in anything. In fact, he doubted it had ever happened at all. He had always been the type of student to perform adequately in just about everything. He had never had any real passion for a particular subject. He liked having the certainty of a right or wrong answer, but he also found comfort in reading and writing, losing himself in his own imagination. Even as he got closer to finishing school altogether, he had no idea where his affections lay. It was one of many reasons he had never told anyone about his hobbies. He liked to think there was more to him as a person than a few quirks, especially when he didn’t excel in any of them. He wasn’t a musical prodigy like April or a star athlete like Ram. He was an ordinary person. No matter how many afternoons he spent writing, or taking photos in the park, or jogging by himself, he would never be good enough at them to let them define him. The others wouldn’t understand this, or even care all that much to begin with, so he kept it to himself. It was far easier to be unremarkable. He already had his role - he was Charlie’s boyfriend.

_ Nothing more. _

As he cast his gaze around the room, he noticed Tanya glaring at him with an intensity that almost made him flinch. Any warmth or positivity his success had brought him shrivelled away before it even had a chance to make him smile. He tried to look away, fix his eyes on anything else, but something held him. It was fight or flight as if this was some kind of challenge. If he held his ground, he was going to be in for a hell of a time when Tanya came after him. If he looked away, he was admitting weakness.

_ We’re not weak anymore. _

The whisper should have surprised him. Of all the distant voices he’d heard in the last few days, this one was so distinct it might as well have been spoken by someone next to him. It sent a new kind of resolve through him, a sense of determination he’d never felt before. This time, it was spiteful and bitter, fueled by seventeen years of pent up hate. His posture tensed and his gaze hardened, rising to Tanya’s challenge. She blinked, shifting her gaze to Ram, but Matteusz kept his stare fixed even as Ram turned to face him. They were all caught in it now, locked in a three-way battle of wills. The seconds passed so slowly they could have been hours. Even as the bell signalled the end of the lesson, he watched Tanya and Ram leave, keeping them in his sights at all times. It was only when all the other students had gone0 that he realised what had just happened. He should have dwelled on it more. It seemed so unlike him to feel so hateful towards people he had once considered friends. But just like the incident with Tanya that morning, within moments he had stopped caring. If they could get away with being selfish and bitter towards him, then he had every right to despise them. 

* * *

His respite didn’t last for very long. He made it through break and lunch without incident and spent his remaining free period reading over his notes in the library. But as the school day came to an end, and he made his way through the throng of people, he heard a familiar voice calling from behind him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Turning around, he saw Ram standing tall, feet grounded firmly in a stance that screamed confrontation. Matteusz looked him up and down. Even with his athlete’s build, Ram was still a good few inches shorter and had to look up to make eye contact. Matteusz liked that. Anything to take away from that smug superiority. Without waiting for a reply, Ram started again.

“Why do you have to be so weird all the time?”

Matteusz tried not to let the sudden flash of anger show on his face.

“Weird.” He said, not as a question, but a statement. “You think I’m weird.” He was almost surprised by how low and measured his voice sounded. Even Ram seemed off-put.

“Don’t play stupid.” Ram snapped back. “You texted me, what, three days ago? Like I’m your friend or something?” 

Matteusz didn’t need to see the phone screen Ram shoved in front of him, but he looked down regardless. In a desperate lapse of judgement, he’d thought that Ram would have some sympathy for him, maybe even offer to help. But, unsurprisingly, it had been a waste of time. The people around them started to turn, watching the conflict unfold as their conversations began to die down. But Ram hadn’t even noticed.

“All you ever do is just hang around like nothing ever happened. And stop staring at us! It’s…” He trailed off, his brow furrowed in confusion. Matteusz watched as a whole array of emotions flickered across Ram’s face like he was searching for a way to avoid the word ‘weird’ again. A small but stubborn part of Matteusz wanted to laugh, but instead, he turned his eyes to Tanya, who had come to stand just behind her friend.

“Is this what you want?” He asked, looking her dead in the eye. “Is it not enough for you to insult me in private? You have to make sure everybody here knows that you’re not my friends.”

Tanya said nothing as she turned slightly to Ram. Again, Matteusz felt that flash of anger burning in his mind. She didn’t even have the courage to fight her own battles.

_ Pathetic. _

“You know what,” He said through gritted teeth, “I’m glad. I would never want to be friends with somebody like you.”

He didn’t stay and wait for a reply. Whatever they had to say wasn’t worth his time anymore. As he walked out, he felt the eyes of a dozen curious students boring into him. It wasn’t often people got to see fights in Coal Hill, and they’d all been denied of another chance. They were hungry for conflict, for violence and catharsis. And, as much as Matteusz didn’t want to admit it, so was he.

* * *

They were everywhere, voices drifting around the furthest corners of his mind. He knew they were real now. After everything he’d seen since the rift had opened, there was no way he could be imagining them. But what were they? That one, clear voice from earlier had been lost in the cacophony that murmured and muttered around him. He tried to focus, to grasp an individual word and force it into the open, but they flew from his grasp like dust snatched away on a breeze. Even as his mind raged and ranted, his body kept moving. It took him across the streets, through sketchy alleyways and bustling pavements. It put one leg in front of the other without even thinking. He felt as though he’d been severed from his physical form, drifting above himself, staring into his own dull and lifeless eyes. And as he watched, his body took him back to the same place it always did. Straight back to Charlie.

As his eyes met Charlie’s still, idle form, all feeling rushed back into him, a great tidal wave of sensations that made him gasp for breath. The weight of the day, all the things he had said and thought, came crashing down on him so hard he staggered backwards. The shame and the panic had a chokehold on him like they were stealing the oxygen in the room. His back fell against the door, slamming it closed with a resounding thud. He stood there for a moment, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to blur his vision. Still, Charlie hadn’t even moved. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hair unkempt and his clothes creased. Three weeks and all he had done was sit and stare, moving every once in a while from the bed to the desk, then back again. But it had to change soon. Maybe this would finally be the motivation he needed. After all that Matteusz had done for him, he had to be willing to do something in return.

“Do you remember the flower petals?” Matteusz asked, his voice wavering as he tried to calm himself. “You told me for the first time about the Cabinet. About what it could do. Even though you knew it was wrong, you told me how you wanted to use it anyway.” He was sure he was getting the details wrong. He knew there had been so many conversations about the Cabinet, about what was right and wrong, but he couldn’t remember them properly. The memories seemed clouded, corrupted by the feeling of dread that was creeping into his bones. The chasm inside him, inside his very being, was draining his thoughts of their colour. “You told me you were lost.” He said, his voice barely a whisper now. “I think...I think I might be lost, Charlie.” 

The words scraped themselves from his throat, leaving angry slices of pain all the way down to his chest, rooted deep in his heart. 

“Bad things are happening.” 

Despite the pain, scraping and scratching at his insides, the words came faster. They forced themselves into the open, stumbling and faltering as they did.

“I feel like something is following me. Like I’m being watched.”

Still no sign of recognition from Charlie. Just a blank, empty stare.

_ He doesn’t care. _

“I keep having these thoughts-”

_ He never cared. _

“-and I don’t know if they’re mine anymore.”

_ He never will care. _

“I need help, Charlie.”

_ We don’t need him anymore. _

The room began to spin. The floor twisted and warped beneath his feet. The walls cracked and crumbled, collapsing in on themselves revealing nothing but the empty blackness. His words were lost, drowned by the deafening shrieks of hundreds of incomprehensible voices. They swarmed him like locusts, burrowing into his brain with tiny, needle-like limbs. For the first time, he could feel it. A tangible presence crawling up from the depths of that chasm, clawing its way towards the surface. And, as always, Charlie was unresponsive, sitting motionless at the end of the bed. Matteusz couldn’t take it. After everything that had happened between them, Charlie couldn’t even be bothered to spare him a glance. It was too much to bear. He fought back the disorientation as the world began to right itself. He stepped back from the wall, pulling the door open, keeping his eyes on Charlie. There was still a chance to be noticed. In the few seconds before he left the room, everything might suddenly turn out alright. He wasn’t surprised when it didn’t. 

* * *

It should have ended there. He should have walked out of the house and straight back to the car. If he was going to be forced to deal with this alone, then at least he could do it without having everyone else’s problems forced onto him. But life always found new ways to disappoint him. Before he even had a chance to close the bedroom door, he collided with someone standing in the hallway. He cried out, preparing himself to see Quill standing there with a new chore for him. Instead, he saw another familiar face. Kindly, gentle, framed with soft, brown hair that fell to her shoulders. It was a friendly face, a welcoming face. It was an impossible face.

“April?”

April beamed back at him, her eyes sparkling in the lamplight. It was her. Alive. Safe. Human again. Somehow, against all the odds, she was back.

“Matteusz.” She said, her voice light and brimming with excitement. “Where’s Charlie?”

The last embers of hope he had left flickered and died in his chest. Of course, it was too much to expect her to be interested in him.

“In there.” He said, gesturing to the bedroom. “He hasn’t moved since you left.”

April’s smile faded as she pushed him aside. He watched her go as she disappeared into the darkness. For a moment, he stayed where he was, not wanting to watch another person fail to rouse Charlie from his grieving. But just as he was about to turn away, he heard a hoarse, fragile voice from inside. Charlie’s voice.

He walked up to the doorframe, keeping as far out of sight as he could. He stood there, trying to catch snippets of their conversation.

“What have you doing in here? Are you ok?” April’s voice, that same mothering tone she had used so many times before.

“Better,” Charlie’s voice, raspy and uneasy, unused to speaking again, “now that you’re here.”

Matteusz watched their outlines embrace, clinging tightly to one another as if they might drift away at any moment. He listened to Charlie try to speak for the first time in three weeks, saying something about being ready to heal.

Matteusz didn’t want to hear anymore, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. After all his efforts, everything he’d done for Charlie had amounted to nothing. The thought threatened to crush him, his knees almost giving out beneath him. As he braced himself against the wall, he heard it again.

_ They’re all the same. _

He knew the voice now. A part of him had always known, but now it was inescapable. It resonated so clearly in his mind that the rest of the world didn’t even register. It was his own voice, speaking to him with thoughts that weren’t his.

_ We are better than them. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracks:  
>  (Chapter Four) Don't Come Back Here - KIRA ft. Rachie


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought it was dark before? We're only just getting started. Now, the madness really begins.

> "Picture this, he was all alone,
> 
> without a friend to call his own.
> 
> So he sat on his bed with a thought in his head,
> 
> with wishes that they all were dead."

* * *

They were around the table in less than an hour. All of them, Charlie, April, Ram and Tanya, together at last. Even Quill stood on the outskirts, watching them with wary eyes. Somehow, they all seemed brighter, refreshed by each other’s presence. They’d greeted one another like a long-lost family - tearful, enthusiastic, and full of warmth. Matteusz watche d the whole thing from the doorway, waiting for somebody to turn and catch his eye, but they all carried on, oblivious to anyone but themselves. After what felt like a lifetime of hugging, the topic of discussion moved onto April.

“So, what happened?” Ram clasped April’s hand as he spoke, never taking his eyes off her. April gave a shrug. “I don’t really know. I don’t even remember most of it.”

“But it’s definitely you,” Tanya said, a hopeful optimism in her tone that Matteusz had never heard before.

“Yep,” April managed a smile “definitely me.” She took a long, calming breath like she was waiting for the answers to come to her. “The Doctor said something about the Cabinet. The soul that killed the Shadow-Kin somehow brought me back…”

“In the Shadow-Kin’s body.” Ram finished. “We all saw that part. But what then?”

There was a pause before her reply. “Maybe with the Shadow-Kin gone...The Doctor took my heart - or, I don’t know, maybe my soul or something - and put it back in my body.”

“Maybe?” Tanya said.

“Like I said, I don’t remember-”

“It’s alright,” Charlie said, a new clarity in his voice. “The Doctor can tell us.”

April shook her head. “She’s not here. She went off to investigate some kind of energy spike.”

“She?” Quill asked. All eyes turned to face her. 

April looked confused for a moment, then blinked in surprise. “Oh. Yes, she - well, her people, I guess - when they die, they change their faces. Regeneration, it’s called. She’s a woman now.”

Quill seemed to consider the information, then shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“What is she looking for?” Matteusz asked, trying to at least make himself heard. When April turned back, she didn’t answer him directly. Instead, she looked around the group, avoiding eye contact.

“Another rift. It opened sometime last week, and she thinks something might have come through.”

Matteusz felt his body go cold. This was it. This was his opening. If he could just get them to listen, then whatever nightmare he was in could be over.

“A rift?” He said, trying not to let his mask of calm slip. His mouth was dry, and the words felt thick and harsh as he spoke them. “Like the one-”

“Oh, who cares about that?” Ram’s voice cut through the words like the slice of a guillotine, destroying the opportunity for calm before it could even appear. “It’s over now. We’re all back, and we never have to deal with that bullshit ever again.”

“He’s right,” Tanya said, glaring at Matteusz as she spoke. “Look at what happened to us last time. You’d have to be stupid to want to get involved again.”

Another flash of white-hot anger struck Matteusz so hard he had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming. “You want to just leave people in danger?”

“Yes.” Ram and Tanya spoke over one another. They exchanged a glance, then Ram continued, “If it means our friends and family stop dying.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Matteusz knew he couldn’t argue against that. Everyone had already lost so much that, to them, it was unreasonable to risk losing even more. But they didn’t understand. They thought this rift business had nothing to do with them, that if they ignored it, then it might go away. They had no idea how close the problem was to them. It was more than just selfishness, it was ignorance too.

_ Would they help even if they did know? _

The voice in his head rang so loud it made him wince, but he knew it was right. He’d seen enough proof of that since he’d met them. He looked up from the table to where Quill was standing, as if somehow she could make the situation better,

“Don’t look at me.” She said, her tone so defensive her words might as well have been a stone wall. “You’re on your own with this one.”

The anger flared again, tensing his muscles and forcing a strained sigh from his lungs. He said nothing, letting the conversation start around him. He didn’t hear the words anymore, they were drowned out by the chatter in his head. Seconds bled into minutes, each one pulling him further and further down into the chasm and still, nobody paid him even a cursory glance. He could feel the darkness rising up, threatening to infect every last bit of him. The world was fading.

Then there was movement. Tanya and Ram stood, making their way over to the living room. April went the other way, towards the kitchen cabinets. Before he’d even realised what he was doing, he was following her, reaching out to tap her on the shoulder. If she could listen to him, even for a moment, she could help.

“April.” He said, standing only a few feet away from her. She turned to him, a sad smile spread across her lips. Before she had a chance to respond, he spoke again. “It’s good to see you again.” For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye, so he stared down instead, focusing on her shoes.

“It’s good to be back.” She said. Her voice seemed both welcoming, like the April he’d always known, and somehow cold. Like it carried the weight of all she had been through.

“I…” He couldn’t get the words out. It didn’t feel right to be asking something of her so soon, but it needed to be done. If not now, then he might never get the chance again. “I didn’t want to say this now, but-”

“You need something?” She asked, still with infinite patience.

“Just to talk.” He said, unable to rid himself of the guilt. He kept telling himself it was necessary. These thoughts in his head, the feelings he was having, they weren’t normal. Whatever had come out of that rift, it was latching onto him, making him complacent. Every cruel thought he let through, he lost a part of himself. He couldn’t let it continue. “I know it isn’t the best time, but-”

“Then can it wait?” She asked. Now he did look up, catching the pained expression on her face. 

_ No. No, it can’t, you stupid bitch. _

He said nothing. He knew if he opened his mouth, those thoughts would come spilling out into the open. That voice, his voice, sent needles of pain through his temples. The world blurred, only for a brief moment, but enough to force him back against the countertops.

“I will talk to you,” April said, oblivious to his distress. “At some point, I will. Just not now.”

_ Liar. _

The rational side of him didn’t blame her. Asking had been selfish, and rejection had been all he’d deserved. But the other side of him, the primal, monstrous side, was getting stronger. It took all logical arguments, burned them into nothing and then that fire spread throughout his entire being. A dark fire, one that sucked in all the light around it, yet still burned hotter than anything he’d ever felt before. 

The next few seconds happened so slowly, they were almost unreal. April went to a cabinet, taking mugs and leaving them on the counter. Matteusz fought the urge to scream as the pain in his head crept outward, striking at his chest like the thrust of a knife. He watched April move the kettle towards the sink, not even glancing in his direction. The voices grew louder. The fire burned brighter. The pain exploded behind his eyes. Somewhere above him, the lights flickered. Somewhere deep inside him, the cold lay waiting. If he let it out, the pain would go away, and the fire would fizzle out into nothing.

_ Do it. _

He couldn’t. With numbness came acceptance. Accepting the anger and cruelty, accepting that thing in his head, the one that spoke with his voice.

_ Don’t fight it. _

Still, April didn’t notice. She moved to the taps, blind to anybody but herself and her stupid little friends.

_ She should have stayed dead. _

The shriek caught him off guard. In an instant, he was back in reality, the pain numbed and the voices silenced. Water spurted from the tap in every direction, showering the cabinets and the walls. April’s hands were in front of her face, as she tried to stop the streams aimed directly at her, the kettle crashing to the floor. Matteusz was lost for words. The anger he had felt mere moments ago dissipated into nothing, replaced by an empty, cold sense of dread. He didn’t know how, but this was his doing. He could feel it, somewhere in the back of his mind, the intent to frighten. The desire to hurt. 

The water cut off, and the room exploded into chaos. Ram moved to April’s side. Charlie moved to pick up the fallen kettle. Tanya and Quill stood and stared.

“What happened?” Ram asked, his voice alive with panic.

April let out a shaky laugh. “It’s alright. I’m fine.” She gripped Ram’s hand. “I think the tap just burst.”

“It’s never done that before.” Quill gave a wary glance at Charlie, who shrugged in bemusement. April wiped what she could of the water out of her eyes with her shirt, still giving an uneasy smile. Matteusz just stood there, filled with a rising panic that sent a chill down his spine.

Ram shot a glare at him. “Go get a towel or something.” He snapped, then turned away without waiting for a response. Matteusz didn’t stop to think. He didn’t let himself get carried away with possible explanations. He turned, forcing himself to walk towards the door. He tried to ignore all the things he didn’t understand. Asking questions meant finding answers he wasn’t ready for yet, and whatever they were, they were going to be bad.

* * *

He wished he didn’t have to go back. He stood in the bathroom doorway, gripping the towel in his hands with such force that his fists trembled. He needed to be alone, needed time to think and clear his head. The more he panicked, the more he could feel the situation slipping beyond his control. Going back down would inevitably lead to him being dragged along with the rest of them, yet never considered a real part of the group. If it was a choice between that and being alone, he would have taken the isolation in a heartbeat. The thought of Charlie crept into the back of his mind. Isolation and brooding hadn’t done much good there. If anything, shutting out the rest of the world had made things worse. If Matteusz ever wanted things to be normal again, he needed help, and getting help meant winning over April, or Charlie, or even Ram and Tanya. Maybe if he kept going along with them, they’d be willing to accept him as a friend.

_ Because that worked out so well last time. _

“Go away.” He said, keeping his voice low to avoid being heard downstairs. “Leave me alone.” Whatever it was that was lurking in the dark corners of his mind, pleading with it probably wouldn’t get him very far. But there didn’t seem to be much more he could do. He needed the others, he needed to stop standing around and wasting time with needless worrying. If he could keep himself together for a little longer, he would be ok. 

As he turned to make his way back down to the others, he saw the figure standing before him. Its face was a dull mask, void of emotion. Its body was emaciated, so frail it seemed to have been drained of energy. It stood without intent, without resolve, just staring ahead. A stampede of conflicting emotions rushed over Matteusz, each one cancelling out the others and leaving him empty. There was no fear, no panic, not even any surprise. Somehow, he had been expecting this. It made sense, after everything that had happened, to be staring into a twisted reflection of his own face. Only there was no mirror in front of him. The figure was a copy, a visual reflection of the voice in the back of his head. The one that now seemed to be a constant presence, sometimes whispering, sometimes screaming, whatever cruel thoughts Matteusz tried to repress. 

_ Nobody’s coming. _

The figure remained still. Its dry, pale lips didn’t move along with the words that rang through his head. Instead, the two of them stood there, locked in that silence until even time itself slipped away. The rest of the world was distant background noise as Matteusz watched his other self step closer.

“Leave me alone.” He managed to repeat, trying to keep some resolve in his shaking voice. The figure didn’t respond, it just kept stepping towards him with that intense, yet blank stare. He backed away until the tiled wall met his back, and he was out of options. All he could do was watch the figure advance until it stood barely a step away from him. It reached towards him with a pallid, gaunt hand. The hand didn’t stop as its fingers reached his chest. Instead, they passed through without a sound, sinking beneath clothes and skin as if they weren’t even there. Matteusz gasped, flooded by a cold so bitter that he lost all feeling in his body. It slipped through every crack and hole in his being like his blood was freezing in his veins. And while his body froze, his mind raged. Images flashed before his eyes one after the other, each with such a blinding intensity that they hurt. A series of gruesome tableaus playing out in excruciating detail. Bodies sprawled on the floor, blood and organs dripping from gaping wounds. Fires and explosions that consumed buildings and ravaged streets, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. He screwed up his eyes, trying to fight the onslaught, but they kept coming, faster and faster. Within the carnage, he saw faces he recognised. Ram’s face, Tanya’s, Quill’s, April’s, even his parents’. 

Before he could even try to scream, a smashing sound above him cut through the assault and brought him painfully back to his senses. The bathroom light exploded in a shower of bright sparks, spitting shards of glass that shot out in all directions. His knees gave way, and he collapsed to the floor, barely avoiding being struck by a fragment of the light bulb. His hand gripped the edge of the sink to steady himself, to force his body back upright. He gasped for air like he’d broken free from raging current, as his heart beat so fast he could have sworn it was audible. The figure was gone, and he was alone in the bathroom. Tears were spilling down his cheeks before he had even noticed them coming, and his breathing turned into desperate, yet silent cries of terror and dread.

He stayed there, bracing himself against the sink, crying like a child, until he had been purged of all feeling. Until all his tears were spent, and his breathing fell back into step. He stood, picking up the towel - he’d managed to drop it in the confusion - and walked out of the room on trembling legs. Every few seconds, he stopped and turned to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He found nothing. Aside from the voices in his head, he was alone.

* * *

He expected to see the others when he arrived downstairs but found the kitchen empty. From somewhere in the living room, he heard the sound of the TV and followed it until he found Quill. She turned to him as he approached.

“What the hell were you doing up there?” She demanded, straightening up. He ignored her, grabbing the remote from the arm of the sofa, flicking off whatever mindless trash she was watching.

“Where are the others?” He asked before she had time to protest.

“They already sorted it, no thanks to you.” She sighed, her words terse and biting. “They said they were going out for coffee somewhere after they got April a change of clothes.”

Matteusz almost laughed. They’d gone without him. Of course they had. It was just like them to sneak off to avoid having to see him. He couldn’t believe he had considered asking them for help. He had to have been delusional to think they would ever care enough to help him. Without waiting for Quill to say another word, he tossed the remote on the floor and headed upstairs to the bedroom, throwing whatever clothes he could find into his overnight bag. He couldn’t cry again, and he couldn’t feel angry either. This was just how things happened now. His place in the world was to watch it go by without him. By tomorrow, he would be desperate enough for help that he would go crawling back to them, but for now, he wanted to be alone. He wanted to go back to the car, sleep through whatever nightmare lurked in his subconscious, and wait for the inevitable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracks:  
> (Chapter Five) Horrible Kids - Set It Off
> 
> (What's this? A non-Vocaloid song? Impossible!)


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Apologies for not posting yesterday, we had a pretty bad power cut and our internet was down most of the night. Let's hope this was worth the wait!

> "I fear who I am becoming,
> 
> I fear that I'm losing the struggle within"

* * *

For the first time since they’d started, the nightmares didn’t wake him. Instead, they held him down, forcing him to watch himself facing the rift all over again. When he finally did wake, it wasn’t with a scream or a jolt. For reasons he didn’t understand, he was calm. The fear that accompanied him on his walk to school wasn’t the desperate panic he was used to. It was a constant wariness like he was waiting for everything to fall apart without warning. Even seeing the grey figures didn’t elicit much more than mild discomfort. If anything, that was worse than terror. At least fear kept him alert, kept him resisting. This was the complacency he’d been dreading, and it was slowly dragging him under, pulling him further down into that endless chasm. It was almost too much to bear.

The figures were everywhere now. Their clouded stares seemed intent, fixed on him rather than gazing into nothing. They watched him as he showered and changed, as he made his way to his first lesson, and as he tried to focus on whatever the teacher was saying. It didn’t do much good. The sight of any of the figures, even out of the corner of his eye, set those voices whispering in his mind again. It was a constant presence, like white noise that drowned out everything around him. A few times, one of the figures locked eyes with him and he’d be caught there, staring at the sunken, lifeless face. Paralyzed, held captive by some force beyond his control.

Despite his distress, the morning passed without incident. Nobody noticed him leaving his lessons before the teachers could finish telling the class to pack away. Nobody paid any mind to him at morning break, when he stood at the far end of the canteen. Instead, he was left alone to watch the others sitting around a table with warm, easy smiles on their faces. April led the conversation, her words flowing freely, dancing from one member of the group to the other. Charlie and Ram chipped in every so often, laughing with the heart and good nature that laughter among friends was supposed to have. At times, their happiness seemed strained, but for the most part, things looked just as they always had done. After everything that had happened, April had brought them back together.

_ Why her? _

Only Tanya was missing. There was a space next to Charlie, marked by a bag and a stack of textbooks. She had been there, at some point. They’d saved her spot while she went somewhere. Matteusz knew before Tanya had even spoken that she was right beside him. He felt her coming as if her presence disturbed the very air around them.

“I think you should leave us alone.”

He turned his head, not bothering to fake surprise at her arrival. Her stance was grounded and her posture was strong, emboldened by the support of her friends. He didn’t respond, knowing full well he was in for a lecture.

“Whatever’s going on with you, I don’t like it. I don’t like how you’re treating us.” She looked him dead in the eye as she finished like she was going for a killing blow.

“How I’m treating you?” He asked, taking his time over the words, trying to keep his emotions in check. “What are you-”

“Don’t act like you don’t know.” She said, folding her arms. “One minute you’re trying to drag us back into this rift stuff, and the next you’re being all hostile to us.”

“I’m not being hostile.”

_ At least not that she knows. _

Tanya sighed, her jaw clenching. “Ram was right, you know. You do stare at us. It’s kind of creepy.”

“Well, I’m sorry for trying to talk to my friends.”

“But we’re not friends.” Her voice almost rose to a yell. “How many times do we have to tell you before you leave us alone?”

He turned fully to her now, away from the cluster of tables. “Do the others think this? Do they even know why you’re talking to me? Or is this something you decided on your own?”

Tanya opened her mouth to speak but stopped short, her brow furrowing. Matteusz watched as she stood there, her thoughts so clear on her face he could almost hear them. 

_ Pathetic little child. _

By the time he realised it was happening, the anger was already rushing him, so suddenly that he almost smacked Tanya right across the face. 

_ How dare she speak to us like that. _

He was aware, somewhere in the back of his mind, that these feelings weren’t his. He wasn’t violent, wasn’t cruel or spiteful. That part of him knew something was wrong. It begged him to stop, to turn away now and leave before something awful happened. But the other part of him, the bitter, sadistic part, was too strong to be swayed. Something pulled at him from deep inside, changing his feelings and twisting his thoughts. It didn’t belong there, it wasn’t a part of him, and whatever was left of his real self was trying to reject it. It wasn’t trying hard enough.

Before Tanya had a chance to respond, he started off again.

“Sometimes I wonder the same thing as you. How many times do you have to embarrass yourself with your stupid little arguments before you realise that I don’t care? Because I don’t care, Tanya. I don’t care if we’re not friends, if you hate me, or if you would rather I was dead. You’re all too selfish to think about anyone beside yourselves.”

Tanya blinked. “I’m not selfish.”

Matteusz laughed. A short, scornful laugh that made Tanya take a step back. “Seriously? You’re the worst of all of them. You think you’re the only person in the world who has problems. You act like you’re special, like you’re so much better than everybody else. That nobody will ever understand you. And why? Is being fourteen really so hard for you?”

He watched Tanya’s jaw clench and her eyes burn, as she curled her hands into fists. “My problems are just as important as anyone else’s.” She said, in a voice that struggled to stay measured.

_ She thinks she’s won. _

Matteusz matched her look of resentment with one of his own and went in for the kill. “Of course they are. Of course, you matter. But what about me? What about all the other people here whose names you don’t even know? As far as you and the others are concerned, we’re irrelevant. At least I’m trying to help-”

“You mean like you helped Charlie?” Her words collided with his, shattering his argument into nothing. Whatever anger had been fueling him faded and his rational side, the human side, reclaimed control of his thoughts. Tanya seemed oblivious to the sudden change, renewing her attack like a falcon swooping to catch a wounded rodent.

“If we’re all such hypocrites, how come it was April that brought Charlie back? Why couldn’t you do it if you’re so perfect?” Like a shark, she’d smelled blood, and was pulling at the nerve she’d managed to strike. “You want to help people? Fine, go do it somewhere else. We don’t need you anymore.”

There was nothing to be said. No words could claw back those illusions of friendship. Matteusz saw the truth now, laid bare before him. The ugly, agonising truth that had always lurked beneath the surface, but only now broke free into the forefront of his mind.

_ Another failure. _

Without realising what he was doing, he shoved Tanya aside and stalked across the canteen. Somehow, he wasn’t in his own body. He was somewhere else, somewhere separate from it, watching it move without his intent. It was oblivious to the eyes that followed it, both of the other students and the pallid husks that stood dotted around the room. It found somewhere to escape, barging through the door and dropping its bags onto the floor. The sound of the slamming door wrenched him back to reality, back into his body. He looked around at his newfound refuge. The boys’ bathroom.

_ How glamorous. _

He stood in the centre of the room trying to keep his panic in check. He’d almost lost it completely. Another few moments out there and he would have punched Tanya right across the jaw. It wasn’t like him. He didn’t get into fights like that. He stood up to people when it was necessary, but he never wanted to see them hurt. There wasn’t a sadistic bone in his body. He wasn’t a monster.

_ Maybe we can be. _

He turned to face the row of mirrors that lined the far wall, the one with the sinks and hand dryers. He didn’t know what he expected to see anymore - his own face, maybe, or the same white-eyed faces he’d seen the previous morning. What he found was somehow worse. It was the other him, the one that had confronted him in Quill’s bathroom just yesterday. Somehow, it was even clearer than it had been in person. Now he could see the lines of every bone beneath that gaunt frame, and every dark vein that rose from almost translucent skin. Transfixed, he moved closer until he stood less than three feet away. The figure moved with him, just as any reflection would. Behind him, a student watched him with uneasy eyes before turning back the way he’d come, through the door and into the uproar outside. Matteusz ignored him, petrified by the twisted mockery of a reflection that faced him. He glanced down at his arms, examining them on the off chance that he had been the one to change, that this reflection merely showed a horror that had overcome him. But they were normal, just like the rest of him. It was only the reflection that was wrong. Too stunned to be afraid, and too breathless to move, he could only stand and stare. He didn’t want to see this. He wanted it gone, but couldn’t turn away. He couldn’t make his legs move. They refused every command, staying firmly fixed in place. The only part of him that seemed responsive was his arm. He lifted it, holding it out in front of the mirror as if somehow he could ward off the thing that was staring back at him. As his hand levelled with the mirror, he felt something cold begin to blossom in his chest. Voices rose up again, growing from murmurs to screams so loud they sent waves of pain through his head. The cold grew stronger, spreading along his raised arm, rushing through his muscles and veins until it reached the tips of his fingers. From there it went outwards, turning from a cold emptiness to a force that radiated out from his hand. He could still feel it as it crossed the space between his hand and the mirror, colliding with the glass. Within an instant, the mirror shattered before him, dozens of jagged shards cascading down to the floor below.

The noise sent feeling back into his body, and he recoiled as the glass littered the bathroom floor. He knew this feeling. He’d felt it when the tap in the kitchen had burst and when the bathroom light had exploded. He had known, somehow, that he had made those things happen, and now he had seen it for himself. Something inside of him - a power he had never possessed before - had broken that mirror.

_ Now do you see what we can do? _

He had to bring his hand to his mouth to keep from screaming. The voice, the reflection, the power, it was too much. This wasn’t an idle threat anymore. Something had crawled out of that rift with the intent to wreak havoc. It was angry, it was dangerous, and it was inside his head.

* * *

There was only one way to go: out. Out into the canteen, where people chatted about nothing and the noise clouded his head. He had to get through it to get to safety. If he could find his way out, he could find help. The Doctor - she had to be out there somewhere. She had helped April before, she could help him now. He just had to make it out of the building, then he could try to make sense of the frantic thoughts rushing around his mind. He stepped out, ignoring his discarded bags and the broken mirror. All that mattered was leaving. At first, he walked, trying to keep those eyes away from him. 

One step. Two. Three.

More figures appeared from the gloom, moving to block the way behind him.

_ Stay. _

He quickened his pace, trying to ignore anything that wasn’t real.

Nine steps. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. 

Faces turned to look at him, both human and not, following him as he moved quicker still.

Voices all around him, getting louder.

Twenty-one steps. Twenty-two. Twenty-

“Matteusz?”

Someone in front of him, blocking his way. He looked up. A teacher. One he recognised. Name lost in the noise.

“Are you alright? Is something wrong?”

More voices, getting louder. Faces all around him. Heart beating faster. Breathing getting harder.

“Move back! Give him space.”

People talking all around him. People staring. Who was real? Was anything real?

_ No escape. _

Strength failing. Knees buckling. Vision fading. Falling.

_ Nowhere to run. _

Into the void. Into the chasm. Falling.

The world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracks:  
> (Chapter Six) It's The Fear - Within Temptation


	7. Seven

> "Tell them I've been saved,
> 
> But the Devil walks amongst you."

* * *

The ground was hard beneath him as he woke. All around him was quiet, the occasional sound of footsteps echoing through the halls. As his vision cleared and his focus returned, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He was in school - he knew that much without even looking - but he couldn’t make out much else from where he was, lying in the recovery position on the cold, polished floor. 

“He’s awake.” A voice somewhere near him, soft but urgent. “Go and call for someone.”

He knew that voice from somewhere, but his mind was still covered in a thick cloud of haze that ground his thoughts to a stop. At the sound of retreating footsteps, he eased himself up, trying to support himself with his shaking arms. He felt a hand on his shoulder, guiding him upwards until he sat resting against a wall.

“Are you feeling alright?” A face came into view, one to match the voice, smiling at him with a warmth that calmed his racing nerves. Mr Saunders.

Matteusz blinked against the harsh light, finally recognising his surroundings. The school canteen, now empty save for himself and Saunders. He tried to remember what had brought him here, recovering only vague sounds and images, like trying to remember a dream.

“What happened?” He asked, taken aback by how dry his throat felt. Saunders’ smile didn’t waver, but his eyes darkened as he reached for something behind him.

“You passed out.” He said, pulling a bag into view and taking out a clear water bottle. “You looked like you were leaving, pretty urgently too, I think. I tried to ask you if you were ok but you started backing off. Then...well, I think you get the picture.”

Matteusz nodded as his mind began to clear. The voice. The mirror. His reflection. It all flooded back into his head, a rushing tidal wave of memory that almost made the world spin around him.

_ Running won’t solve anything. _

“Matteusz?” Saunders’ voice had softened almost to a whisper, his hand halfway to offering up the bottle. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

It took Matteusz a moment to realise he was starting to hyperventilate, his body desperate to draw in more air. He gritted his teeth, tried to force his mind onto something else.

“What time is it?” He asked, taking the bottle from Saunders’ hand. The concerned look on the teacher’s face didn’t falter, but he glanced at his watch regardless.

“11:30.” He said, “You were out for almost 45 minutes.”

“Then I have to go,” Matteusz said as he went to stand. “I’m missing my lesson.”

“No, don’t worry about that.” Saunders moved to block his path. “We’ve already called someone to take you home. You’re not in any trouble.”

Matteusz knew full well he wasn’t, but he needed anything to take his mind off this conversation.

_ Hiding is pointless. _

“Sir, please. I-”

“No.” Saunders’ tone was absolute. “I’m sorry, but you need to go home. You’re not well, Matteusz, and I think you know that.”

Matteusz sighed. Home might not have been an ideal place for him, but at least it was somewhere other than here. If he made it home he could find The Doctor or anyone else who might be able to help him. 

“Can I at least stand up?” He asked, resigning himself to the inevitable. 

Saunders nodded. “Of course.” He moved out of the way. “And have some water. You sound parched.”

Matteusz gladly opened the bottle, taking a long, grateful drink until he was almost short of breath. As he stood on uneasy legs, he took a moment to look around the room, regaining a sense of his bearings. Just an ordinary, quiet room. Nothing wrong with it in the slightest.

Saunders went for the bag, the one which Matteusz now recognised as his own, and almost handed it over before stopping. “Is there something going on at home?” Saunders asked after an unsettled pause. 

For a moment, Matteusz didn’t know how to answer. At first, he wanted to keep quiet, avoid giving anything away. Then, he thought about telling the truth. Not the whole truth about the rift and the aliens, or all the other stuff that had happened to him over the last few weeks, but smaller things. Things that might make Saunders understand. But soon, he realised that there was no decent way of getting things off his chest, not with someone who had no idea what he’d experienced. The people he needed to talk to most had no interest in what he had to say.

“Many things.” He said, staring down at the floor. “So many that I can’t even make sense of them all. But I can’t tell you, sir. If I did... you would think I was going mad.”

_ And he’d be right. _

The voice sent an ice-cold jolt through his head, sliding down along his spine. He tried to repress the emotion, to keep it down below the surface, but his face twisted into a grimace before he had a chance to fight it off. He heard an intake of breath as Saunders went to speak again, but the sound of high heels clicking against the floor stopped them both before either could react. They turned to see Quill walking into the hall, accompanied by a receptionist Matteusz didn’t recognise. She had a pram in front of her, held with surprising care. If it weren’t for the scowl on her face, Matteusz might have thought she was concerned. 

Saunders turned back, handing the bag to Matteusz. “One moment.” He said as he went to greet Quill with his usual hospitality. Matteusz watched them talk, not bothering to try and make out the words. Regardless of what was said, he would end up going back with Quill and probably be subjected to one of her lectures. He was past the expectation of sympathy from her. When she was done, Quill beckoned him over with a curt nod, already making her way to the exit. By the time Matteusz caught up to her, Saunders and the receptionist were already leaving. 

* * *

They spent the first half of the journey home in silence. Quill went ahead, pushing the pram, while Matteusz lagged behind, watching the cars as they drove past. He searched for the figures, waiting for them to emerge from the shadows and grab at him. But, for the first time in weeks, he saw nothing. The streets were calm. His head was quiet. If it hadn’t been for the reflection, he might have believed things were getting better. It was the closest thing he’d had to hope for a very long time, and he still couldn’t enjoy it. He knew the creature in his head was still lurking there. He felt its presence like a constant storm cloud hanging over his mind. The reprieve was nice but somehow he knew it would be short-lived.

“So, apparently I’m supposed to ask what’s wrong with you.”

The sound of Quill’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks, her words catching him off guard. He almost didn’t want to believe it. There wasn’t a chance in Hell that Quill was taking an interest in him.

“Are you?” He managed after an agonising pause. 

Quill turned to face him, keeping one hand on the pram. “That sad little teacher of yours seems to think something’s bothering you. And what’s more, he thinks it’s got something to do with me.”

He’d known something like this was coming, yet the dread still hit him like a tidal wave. Quill, as usual, was oblivious. 

“I don’t know why you’ve got it into your head that you’re so hard done to,” she went on, “but I don’t want to hear anything more about it. Do you understand?”

He didn’t bother to object. He knew full well she didn’t give a damn about him one way or the other. The last thing he wanted was an argument, so the rest of the journey home passed in silence. Matteusz was thankful for it. For once, his thoughts were his own, without intrusion from any needling voices. The peace, no matter how brief, was welcome. 

* * *

When they arrived back, Quill went straight upstairs with the baby, not offering Matteusz any words of consolation. When he was certain he was alone, he tossed his bag onto the sofa and stared into the mirror mounted on the wall. His reflection was just that, a normal reflection. Nothing sinister or inhuman about it in the slightest. Even so, he still didn’t feel entirely comfortable looking at it. It hadn’t been the reflection, the thing that wore his face, that broke the mirror in the bathroom. It’d been him. He had felt that force, the power building within him. It was his subconscious command that shattered the glass, his will that had made it happen. And if he had done it once, it stood to reason that he could do it again. He didn’t know why he wanted to. Whatever this power was, it wasn’t something human. It was all tied to that voice in his head, trying to break down the walls in his mind. If he had any sense, he would ignore it, repress whatever compelled him to try again. But the curiosity was overwhelming. Even though he knew nothing good could come of it, the temptation gnawed at his insides, stripping away at them like poison.

He tried to focus back on the bathroom mirror, to conjure up his exact thoughts and feelings from the moment the glass had smashed. But a thick haze still clouded his memory, a remnant of his unconscious delirium. He hadn’t been in control then, hadn’t known what it was he was doing. He’d been acting on instinct, whereas now his thoughts were all his own. All he had to do was want it to happen and it would. He reached out an arm, wary that Quill could walk in at any time. Staring at the mirror, he pictured it shattering, glass falling down around him. As he focussed, the rest of the world dimmed to a low, background hum. Just him and the mirror, the only objects that mattered. The only ones that existed. 

Then he felt it. A sprawling cold that turned his blood to ice. It grew outwards, faster than it had before, collecting in his outstretched hand. Last time, it had shot out uncontrollably without him even realising. Now, it waited, swirling beneath his skin, ready for his command. His smile was instinctive, uninvited, yet it spread across his face as if it had always belonged there. All he had to do now was to give his intent and the world would bend to his every whim. He let his fingers relax, then splayed them out in one swift motion, tensing every muscle in his arm. There was a surge of feeling as the power lashed out of him, like a viper striking its prey. It slammed into the mirror, leaving its surface nothing more than a mass of tiny glass pieces no bigger than a penny. Matteusz waited for the feeling to dissipate, for the splinters to rain down and shower the carpet like snowflakes. But instead, he felt how the power in his fingertips connected with the shards of glass. It latched onto them, ready to bend and pull them however he wanted. He drew it in, moving his arm back towards his chest, and the glass moved with him. The pieces floated from the mirror’s frame towards his hand, caught on some kind of ethereal breeze that lured them closer in. Awe and dread fought for dominance in his mind, but he ignored them both, focusing only on the glass that now hovered before him.

He turned His hand, holding His palm out underneath the remnants of the mirror. He imagined them dancing, twirling around His hand like leaves in the autumn wind. No sooner had the thought entered His mind than the shards rose up and spun themselves into a cyclone, a minor force of nature entirely under His command. No matter how much He wanted to react, no emotion would come to Him. He was numbed by whatever power had swept over Him, lost in the sheer scale of what He was doing. The only thing He felt was an absolute sense of contentment. He was in control at last. For too long, He’d lain in wait for the moment to come, for those walls to break down and bring Him out into the light. Now, He was here, free of those troublesome human inhibitions. Now He was free to do as He pleased.

The slam of a door made the glass shards drop from the air, down to the floor below. Matteusz cried out, suddenly aware of his surroundings - soft footsteps on a hard floor, another broken mirror, breathless anxiety in his chest. He blinked, trying to make sense of what had just happened. For a moment, it had been as if he’d slipped through a crack in his own mind, fallen back into that endless chasm. Something else had crawled out, only for the briefest of minutes, and held control of his body. He still felt its thoughts in his head, the sadistic delight of holding that power. Only, in those lingering thoughts, it hadn’t been an ‘it’ anymore. It had been Him. Not the real him, but as close as anything else would ever get. Matteusz cursed himself for the second time that day, wishing he had just left well alone like he’d wanted to. Tears came to his eyes, unrestrained by his emotional panic, but they brought no crying with them. They fell without a sound like even they were afraid.

The door. Matteusz knew he’d heard a door slamming somewhere. Someone was here in the room with him, and any minute now, they would see the mirror. 

“What the hell did you do?”

Sure enough, Quill’s voice cut through the silence like a wailing alarm. Matteusz knew he had to get away. If he stayed, he’d have to face her again. The thought of even looking at her made him want to scream until his throat was raw. 

_ She means nothing. _

“Go away!” He yelled, not sure whether he was talking to Quill, or to the voice in his head.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Came Quill’s sharp reply, but her words were meaningless.

_ Shatter her skull. Crack her spine. _

“No…” His voice was strained like it was being held back by dozens of grasping hands. He couldn’t lose himself again, couldn’t let his control slip away. Without thinking, he turned, barging past Quill as he raced for the stairs. He heard her calling after him, her voice alive with indignation, but he went on undeterred. Once upstairs, he threw open the door to Charlie’s room, almost staggering inside. He slammed his body against the door, forcing his legs to keep him upright and screwing his eyes shut. For a moment, he thought he was safe. For a moment, there was peace as he leant against the door, staring into the blackness behind his eyes. Seconds passed, maybe even minutes, as he stood in darkness and silence. When he felt ready, with a deep breath in, he opened his eyes. He wished he hadn’t.

In the once comfortable quiet of Charlie’s bedroom, he came face to face with his other self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracks:  
> (Chapter Seven) Villains, Pt. 1 - Emma Blackery
> 
> Just a note, all pronouns used in this chapter (and any future chapters) are 100% intentional, capitalisations and all. Make of that what you will.


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Late posting again. I've been swamped with coursework these last few days so working on writing has been pretty tricky. I have the next couple of chapters already written so there shouldn't be any more missed updates. Sorry to keep you guys waiting.

> "God, who will you choose?
> 
> Is it Him or me?"

* * *

Time ground to a painful halt. The world around him dimmed until only the bedroom seemed real. Somewhere outside, Quill could be following him. Any moment she could come hammering on the door, screaming her angry tirades, but it didn’t matter in the slightest. He wanted to run. Seeing this version of him, drained of all life and colour, set all of his nerves alight. Spasms of pain shot through him, his hands began to tremble and his head spun with dizziness that would have toppled him, if it weren’t for the door he leant against. Every part of him, his body and his mind, felt the same sense of wrongness. A base, guttural reaction to the thing that stood before him. 

Matteusz had to force the words from his mouth as he spoke. “Leave me alone.” He said, in a voice that shook and faltered into no more than a whisper. As if it could sense his discomfort, the other him tilted its head. Its voice, still speaking without any movement from its cracked lips, split the silence like a knife cutting through bare flesh.

_ She’ll come back for us. _

Matteusz gritted his teeth. He didn’t know how or why, but every word the voice spoke sent another cold slice of pain right through him. Like his soul was being cut in two. But if his other self noticed, it didn’t seem to care.

_ She wants to hurt us. _

“No.” He protested, trying to keep himself steady as he stepped away from the wall. “She won’t do that.”

_ We should- _

“Stop saying that.” He snapped before the voice could finish. “There’s no ‘us’. You are not me.” He looked the figure dead in its clouded eyes, hoping that his words had carried some authority. For a moment, there was silence. His other self stood motionless like it was contemplating his words. Then it took a step towards him.

_ I will be. _

Matteusz felt the words before he heard them. They slipped from his mind down through his body, leaving a trail of empty dread along with them. They dragged a cold, dead weight behind them, lingering in every inch of him. He shuddered. Now, everything he had been trying to avoid lay bare in front of him. He had seen Charlie and the others fight so many monsters before, and now one of them was taking control of him. He could feel its presence inside him, swallowing his thoughts and wrapping slivers of emptiness around his heart. Until now he’d been convinced he could resist, that his friends would eventually save him from the anger and hatred. But he wasn’t strong enough. He was just the same stupid, pathetic little boy he’d always been. Tanya had been right about him, Ram too. He was worthless. He might as well just curl up and die right here on the bedroom floor. The world would thank him for it. It was hopeless. He should just give in and-

“No!” He cried out, forcing the creeping thoughts from his head. He had to fight. If he couldn’t do that, then he really was hopeless. But with resistance came another attack, renewed and stronger than ever. Something inside him curled around his throat, not a physical presence but a feeling, wrapping tighter and tighter around him. Even without a tangible form, it still sent him gagging, gasping for what little air he could get. His hands went to his neck, clawing desperately at a thing that wasn’t there, trying to force himself free. Until, without warning, there was something there. A pale, grey arm with slender fingers that disappeared through him like a ghost. His other self, still as blank-faced as ever, holding him with an unbearable strength, yet still not touching him. Something shoved Matteusz back against the wall, a kind of invisible force that left him inches away from the door. He made a single, futile attempt to grasp at the door handle but his body seemed unresponsive, unwilling to obey his commands. His vision began to blur and his head swam as he slowly ran out of oxygen. Another few seconds and it would all be over. 

A sound from somewhere outside sent shockwaves reverberating through the room. A pounding on the door, persistent and furious.

“Open this door right now, or I swear I’ll blast it open,” Quill screamed from the other side. The words seemed to repel his other self, as once again the figure vanished from the room as if it had never been there at all. Matteusz gasped for air as the chokehold released, his legs collapsing from under him. But even as he fell, the next assault began. Voices hissing in his ear like angry snakes, spitting burning venom into his being.

_ Weak. _

_ Pathetic. _

_ Stupid. _

Another hammering from outside.

“I’m warning you.” Came Quill’s voice again, seething with fury as the impact of her fists shook the door. The door that should have opened easily. There was no lock on it. Nothing stopping her from walking right in. Except, of course, the other him, now standing before the door with its arm outstretched, forcing it shut despite the onslaught from the other side. Matteusz forced himself to stand on uneasy legs, trying to fight back against the manic whispering.

“What do you want?” He asked, quiet yet determined. 

The figure remained still and unmoving, yet its voice rang out all the same.

_ You know. _

Of course he did. He’d always known. It wanted his mind. To warp and twist his psyche into some kind of plaything, another tool for its sick games. Knowing that didn’t make it any less awful, didn’t stop him from shuddering as the words crept through him.

“Why?” It seemed pointless to try and reason with it, this thing that lingered in the far reaches of his mind, but a part of him still held out hope. A faint glimmer of possibility that someone might come and save him, so long as he could just buy himself some time. Then came the reply.

_ Because you want it too. _

He didn’t even have a chance to react. Before he could draw breath, a blast of energy shot through the surface of the door, swinging it open until it slammed against the wall. Matteusz shrieked, stumbling back as Quill strode into the room, eyes blazing with rage. In her hand, she held the gun, gripped so hard her knuckles turned white. As she stared at him, her face twisted in contempt.

“Oh don’t look so pathetic. I’m not going to shoot you.” She spat, tossing the weapon onto the nearby desk. Her words didn’t bother him, it was the sudden quiet in his head that made him shiver. But, like always, Quill didn’t notice.

“Whatever nonsense you’re trying to pull, it stops right now. I won’t have you whining about how hard done to you are. Do I make myself clear?”

The anger that flared within him was so fierce that it burned, scolding him like hot coals. But within moments it was drowned in a tidal wave of despair, so sudden than his tears were halfway down his face before he even noticed them.

“You don’t understand,” he pleaded, making a grab for her wrist and bringing her hand towards him, “you have to help me. You have to call The Doctor-”

“Oh, so you can complain to somebody else?” Quill bit back, snatching her hand away. “When are you going to get it into that tiny human brain of yours that you have it easy? Do you think a sad childhood and a few boyfriend troubles even begin to compare with the things the rest of us have seen? But the difference between us is that we don’t let it consume us. And we certainly don’t whine about it to anyone who’ll listen.”

_ Does she have any idea who she’s talking about? All they do is complain. _

Matteusz shook his head, his vision blurred by tears. “You’re not listening.”

“No, it’s you that isn’t listening.” She said, “sometimes you have to fix your own problems in life, get over yourself and move on. Nobody owes you anything here. Life isn’t-”

“Stop it!” The scream came from somewhere deep within him, clawing and scraping its way out from his throat. The lights above them flickered, exploding into showers of sparks and glass. Without even thinking, he called that power back to him, thrusting his hand out and shattering the windows on the far side of the room. Fighting the urge to scream again, he watched Quill as she took a tentative step back.

“What did you just do?” She asked, her voice now low and quiet, tipped with the slightest hint of fear. 

It all happened in an instant. First came the terror. A desperate, all-consuming dread that stopped both his body and mind dead in their tracks. Then came the rage. For the briefest of moments, he wanted to reach out and tear Quill apart like a rag-doll. And finally, there was the smile. It came unbidden, without warning. His mind was still reeling in panic, terrified at the darkness that came flooding in. But his body was smiling. Smiling and laughing. Cruel, bitter laughter that brought the pain and hatred of endless lifetimes spilling to the surface. The laughter of something unhinged, of something twisted. Something inhuman. In that instant, Matteusz went away, and something else came to the surface.

“You care so much now, don’t you?” He said, the words clumsy from His new, human vocal cords. “Now that your life is in danger, you choose to open your eyes.” He didn’t like the way He sounded. The human had some kind of defect in its speech, a mixture of two dialects that refused to fully separate. It spoiled His words, made them sound so weak. So human. The woman was backing away, reaching a hand back towards the desk. She was a Quill and a strong one at that. He wondered how easily He could kill her. Maybe she would prove a challenge.

“Matteusz?” She asked, her voice quiet and shaken.

He shook His head, the smile widening on the human’s fresh, innocent face. “No.” He said, still in that cumbersome, human tongue He was beginning to loathe. He watched her hands as she reached for something on the desk. The gun. If she managed to get her hands on it, she could destroy the human’s fragile little body in a single shot. None of His tricks could save Him then. If He wanted, He could have turned the weapon to dust with a wave of His hand, or flung it out of the broken window. Instead, He waited. He let her close her fingers around it, even find the trigger and move the weapon closer to her, before He splayed His hand and splintered every bone in her arm. A sickening crack filled the room, followed by a scream as the gun clattered to the floor and the woman howled in pain.

The scream. The scream brought him back. It pulled him out of the darkness, and suddenly Matteusz was back in his body. Feeling rushed him. The physical sensations of blood and heat coursing through him, then the emotions, the dread and the terror and the guilt all flooding him at once until the tears came again. And still, Quill was screaming, now through gritted teeth as she glared at him, ready to pounce. She paused when she saw the tears, relaxing her gait ever so slightly. Now was his chance. If he couldn’t make her understand now, it would all be over. 

_ Kill her. Before she kills us both. _

All he had to do was find the words, fight the monster inside him for just a little while longer.

_ You know how this will end. _

He feared he might, but disaster was only a possibility. If he didn’t act, it would be a certainty.

“It’s in my head.” He whispered, no longer trying to keep the terror from his voice.

Quill looked up, her face still creased in pain. “What is?” She managed, cradling her broken arm as close to her as she could manage.

“I don’t know.” It was all Matteusz could think to say. After all this time, he still didn’t know what was haunting him. 

_ I’m everything you could never be.  _

“It talks to me.” He went on, his words becoming more and more desperate. Before he knew it, they flowed from him almost on instinct. “It makes me think all these horrible thoughts. I tried to make it stop but…” he paused to force himself to breathe, gasping as his vision blurred again, “...it’s so loud.”

He couldn’t see Quill’s expression through his tears but he knew without a doubt she would be frowning at him. He could almost hear it in her voice as she spoke. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

In any other situation, those words might have made him angry, but now all he could do was agree. If he’d been more insistent, then none of this would be happening. So why hadn’t he just come out and said it?

_ Because you wanted this to happen. _

“No.” He cried, all thoughts of Quill fading from his mind. The room was gone again, and he stood beside his other self in an endless void of nothingness. “I don’t want to hurt people. I’m a good person.”

_ And look where that’s gotten you. _

He shook his head. “You’re wrong.”

“Who are you talking to?” Quill’s voice spoke from somewhere on the fringes of reality, just beyond his comprehension, going unnoticed.

_ They hurt you. Now I can hurt them back. _

Matteusz felt another wave of cold energy flooding through him, outside of his control. Before he could stop it, his other self flicked its hand forward, throwing Quill against the far wall and toppling the desk.

_ You can never win. _

It would have all ended right then and there if it hadn’t been for the screaming. Not from himself. Not from Quill. From somewhere outside, another room away. It was a high-pitched, shrill wailing that - even from so far away - drowned out all other senses. Quill’s daughter, woken by the noise and screaming in her cradle. At that moment, Matteusz felt a brief flash of strength, a new resolve that rushed him all in an instant, silencing the clamouring voices in his head. Now, he could think clearly again. If he let his other self hurt Quill, he’d be robbing an innocent child of her mother. He would be scarring her for life, just as his parents had scarred him. He knew, deep down, that all hope was lost for him. But the least he could do was stop himself from hurting anyone he loved. 

“Don’t try to save me.” He said, unsure if Quill could even hear him. Then, with one last deep breath, he ran. Out onto the landing, down the stairs, out through the living room. He didn’t stop to look at the mess he’d caused. He didn’t even think about grabbing shoes or a jacket. He just ran, throwing open the door and disappearing onto the street. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracks:  
> (Chapter Eight) Jekyll and Hyde (English cover) - RafScrap
> 
> (If you only listen to one song on the playlist, make it *this* one. It basically sums up the themes of the whole story! I had to change the pronouns to fit a male protag, but the meaning is still the same.)


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaa! I'm so late! Sorry for the delay, life has been kicking my ass. Next chapter will go up on Thursday as planned. Sorry again!

> "Keep your voice down
> 
> or He'll hurt me."

* * *

He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know how long he could go for. All he knew was that he had to run, just like he had so many times before. Against the Shadow-Kin, against the flower petals, and now against himself. As he weaved between passers-by, across streets and around corners, he felt their eyes on him. Some of them normal, human eyes, staring at the strange boy running without shoes, tears streaming down his face. The others were those blank, emotionless eyes on the dull, grey faces. Not just his own anymore, but the dozens of figures he had thought were long gone. And they weren’t just watching anymore. They tried to grab him, snatching at the air as he passed. He tried to shout, to scream at them to go away but he couldn’t find the words. They were swallowed by the fear and adrenaline that flooded his body in wave after wave. All the while, he heard that voice.

_ Do you still think you can run? _

He didn’t care how mad he looked to the strangers around him. All that mattered was staying in control. When he spoke, he couldn’t even tell if his words were real or if they were merely thoughts that passed through his mind. But he went on regardless, undeterred.

“I won’t let you in my head.”

_ You already have. _

No matter how fast he ran, tiredness refused to overcome him. His lungs drew breath as if he’d been sleeping. His limbs didn’t ache. If he tried, he could have run forever.

_ You may have to. _

“The others will stop you.” He shoved past a young couple blocking his path, pushing one off the pavement and the other into a wall.

_ And they’ll kill you. _

“If that’s what it takes, then I don’t care.”

_ Don’t lie. You can’t fool me. I’m you. _

_ “ _ You’re not!”

He came to a park, a small patch of green space dotted with trees. He veered left, darting across the road. A car blared its horn in response, just missing him as it slammed its breaks.

_ Where do you think you can go? Nobody’s coming to save you. _

“I have to go away. As far away from here as possible.”

_ Why? _

“Because I won’t let you hurt my friends.”

_ But you want me to. _

He couldn’t find any responses, any counters. He knew it wasn't true, but no words came to defend him.

_ How long have they been hurting you? All of them? How many years have you hidden that pain? That anger they caused you? _

“Stop it.”

_ I am that pain. I am your anger. Now let me out. _

Two routes lay ahead of him. A footpath set into the grass and an uncharted, rolling patch of green. He went off the path, across the grass to a small cluster of trees marking the end of the park, separating them from the surrounding streets. Still, no tiredness would come.

“Why are you still doing this? You know I’ll never agree to anything you offer.”

_ I want to give you a chance. I know you want this. You just won’t let yourself admit it. I’m going to hurt them, with or without your consent, but we can do it together.  _

He wasn’t even sure if he was really speaking. He thought the words clear as day, but he had no idea if they had any sound. For all he knew, it could all be in his head. Both of them, him and the thing wearing his face, at war in his mind. 

Whichever was the case, his response was final.

“Go to Hell.”

He didn’t know these streets. He had broken through the barrier of trees and now ran through rows of terraces dotted with dark, dilapidated alleyways. As much as he didn’t like to think about it, he had to stop at some point. If exhaustion refused to overtake him, then time surely would. The world would darken and night would swallow it all. In the dark, the monsters would come crawling out. 

_ You’re lost. _

He knew he was. In every sense of the word. He was surrounded by houses and streets he had never seen before. He couldn’t even begin to navigate his way back. While his mind had been at war, his body had taken him somewhere new. Somewhere nobody would come to save him. But it was more than that. His body may have been lost amongst strange buildings, but his mind was buried beneath a mountain of thoughts that didn’t belong to him. He was drowning in them. They burned him up into nothing. He wondered at that moment if this was how Charlie had felt, using the Cabinet and destroying any hope for his people’s future. Was this what Matteusz had failed to save him from?

_ You tried to find him, and all you could do was lose yourself. _

He ducked into the next alleyway he came to. The adrenalin that had filled him mere moments ago now turned into a desperate panic that wrapped around him like tangles of thorns and briars. He felt the pain. It struck him everywhere. His head and his chest and his limbs were all alive with agony, fresh torture, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. He wanted to scream, but something blocked the sound from his throat. All he could do was collapse against the wall, the rough stone scraping his bare arms, cold and stinging.

_ So this is how you end it. Alone and afraid. _

He felt it coming. The end. The rapture. His final judgement. If these were his last moments, then he would die as he had lived. A pathetic, stupid little boy.

“The hell are you doing here?” A voice from somewhere outside his vision. An unfamiliar, angry voice, followed by footsteps. Two sets of them, heavy on the hard ground.

“Hey, it’s that kid from Sixth Form.” A second voice joined the first, closer now, almost right in front of him. He didn’t want to look. If he let his guard down for even a second, the darkness would overwhelm him. But he felt himself turning towards the voices, his body moving without him. Two boys stood by him, only a few years younger than he was. One was tall, well-built and dark-haired, glaring with stern, icy eyes. The second was smaller, wiry, grinning from ear to ear as he brushed a lock of honey-coloured hair from his face. They were dressed almost identically, both in dark jackets, ripped, black jeans and band tees. Matteusz didn’t recognise them. Outside of school, without uniform, the faces of the lower years were all a muddle to him.

The dark-haired boy frowned at his friend. “He goes to Coal Hill?” he asked, his brow creased in doubt.

The shorter boy’s smirk widened. “Yeah, he’s one of Tanya’s new friends.”

“Oh.” The first boy’s mouth twisted into a similar, smug grin as he turned to face Matteusz. “Is she a bitch to you as well?” He began to laugh.

_ Kill them. _

“Go away,” Matteusz said, taking a step back towards the open street. He didn’t know who he was even talking to, the two boys in front of him, or the voice in his head.

The tall boy stopped laughing. “Hey, we were here first, dickhead. You should be the one leaving.”

_ Cut his throat. _

“No.” The words were spoken before Matteusz even had a chance to think. The tall boy’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening, but his fair-haired friend only grinned more. “I told you, all her friends are fucking weirdos. You know she hangs out with the footballer now?”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t give a shit.” The first boy spat back, “Now make him fuck off.” He shoved Matteusz back, driving him closer to the edge of the alleyway. 

_ Break his neck. _

“Don’t touch me.” Matteusz snapped as he smacked the boy’s hands away from him.

“What? You wanna fight? Is that what you’re saying?” The second boy laughed, taking off his jacket and tossing it aside. It landed by the alley walls, in the dust and the dirt from the cold, hard floor.

_ Make them pay. _

“No. Just leave me alone. I can sort this myself.”

The world cracked and splintered. Voices screamed and fought for dominance in his head. The cold and the darkness raged him, striking him with spasms of pain. It was all going wrong. He had to leave. If he turned and ran now, everything would be alright.

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” The first boy said as if he’d somehow seen inside his head. “You walk right into our space, try to make us leave, and then you fucking try to hit me.” 

The words didn’t even register. It was all just noise. All Matteusz could think about was the figure, his other self, watching him from the walls.

_ Hurt them. _

“Fucking answer me, then!” The tall boy yelled, shoving him harder. This time, Matteusz couldn’t regain his balance in time. He stumbled on the uneven ground and went down, his head striking the pavement. The world rocked. For a moment, he was numb, in shock from the impact. He forced himself upright, steadying himself on his arms. He looked up, and now both the boys were laughing. Laughing at him. 

_ How many more times will you let this happen? _

The shorter boy began to approach him. From his position on the floor, Matteusz could only get a clear look at his shoes. They were dark, like the rest of the outfit, made for sports. They were sturdy. A kick from shoes like that could do serious damage.

_ How many people have you let hurt you? _

The second slowed to eternities. A tidal wave rose and crashed into his heart. A hurricane raged in his mind. His soul was covered by storm clouds. Every part of him screamed in pain, yet he couldn’t make a sound. The end was coming. He could feel it.

_ They’ll never hurt us again. _

* * *

He didn’t feel the boy’s foot slamming into his face. He didn’t feel himself standing, shaking off the attack like it was nothing. He didn’t feel the wave of energy that shot from his hand, flinging the boy back and sending him crashing into the wall with a sickening thud. Instead, Matteusz watched. Watched from afar, his mind severed from his physical form. He saw his body as if he wasn’t in it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make it move as he wanted. Then, in one horrifying moment, he understood. It wouldn’t obey him because it wasn’t his body anymore. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. But all he could do was think.

_ No... _

* * *

The pain was good. Pain meant feeling. Pain meant a physical form. Meant He was in control at last. For real, this time. The children before Him were nothing, momentary specks of existence. Their lives were meaningless. With the least effort possible, He tossed one of them away. The impact forced the air from his lungs and shocked the body into unconsciousness. It was beautiful.

_ No… _

The human’s voice rang out, no more than a stray thought in the back of His mind. When He turned, He saw it standing there, watching. So faint it might have been a ghost. Maybe now it would learn its place.

“The fuck just happened?” The other human, the whimpering little child, stammered in alarm, his eyes moving between his friend and Him.

_ What did you do? _

That voice again. So weak and feeble. Not worthy of His attention. Instead, He focussed on the boy in front of Him, the way flesh and blood and bone all combined to form a perfect human specimen. A marvel of evolution. Of all the bodies He’d inhabited, all the minds He’d collected, the human form pleased Him most. Their inner workings were so complex and yet, from the outside, they seemed so simple, so easy to break. Even this one, with wide eyes full of fear, making a slow retreat backwards. With a flick of His wrist, He could slice the little wretch in two as easily as blinking. But that, He thought, would be no fun.

_ Stop this now. Get out of my head. _

The human’s protests were beginning to annoy Him. Casting no more than a sideways glance, He smirked at its image by the alley wall. The expression was unfamiliar on His new face. The human had never known cruelty like this, only tasted it in the darkest moments. Now, He revelled in it. It was His poisoned flower, His sweet sin.

_ Sin… _

The word echoed through His mind, spoken in a voice brimming with terror. A whole host of new sensations, memories from a past He had never lived began to surface. A cruel father. A cold mother. A world that didn’t care. Devils and angels that reigned in immortal plains, the place beyond death. They fascinated Him, almost swallowed Him in their brilliance, but the sounds of feet on the hard ground drew Him back to His senses. Later, He promised Himself, He would explore the human’s mind further. For now, He had to deal with the boy making an escape towards the back of the alley.

A swift gesture of His hand and the boy whirled to face Him, eyes sparkling with fear. Another gesture sent him to the floor, knees scraping against the ground. The sudden cry of alarm brought another smile to His face. It was the sound of submission. The sound of a new toy to be broken. Reaching out with His mind, He felt how every cell in the body connected, trying to find their weak points. The more He explored, the more He felt the space between them, the perfect spots to prize one cell away from its partners, ready to split skin and shatter bone. 

The boy made a whimpering sound. “Please...let me go.”

_ Just stop. _

The voice in His head tried to needle its way through, to lodge itself in His mind. 

Ignoring the protests, He found His target, right at the boy’s throat. A clenched fist cut off the air to his lungs and the boy began to gag, clutching at his neck, face beginning to redden. The other boy, the friend, was stirring in the corner, trying to stand. A distant, hazy part of him may have realised his friend was in danger as, without warning, he lunged out into the middle of the alley. It didn’t phase Him in the slightest. Releasing the first boy, He moved His wrist with a sudden jerk. The movement itself was unimportant, just an outlet for His power. The gun for His bullets. Before the charging boy even had a chance to cry out, his head twisted with a resounding crack and he fell to the floor. Motionless. Lifeless.

Two screams erupted into the quiet alley. One from the boy on the floor, still trying to force oxygen into his starved lungs. The other came from His head. The human’s voice, louder than it had ever been before. It made Him stop, made Him falter for the briefest of moments. Not enough to shake His control, but it was something. Something that couldn’t happen again.

“You killed him…” The boy’s voice was hoarse and wavering, but he spat the words as if they were tipped with venom. “You fucking killed him!”

Another moment and he was up, swinging blindly with clumsy fists. Without even flinching, He raised His hand with careless ease and halted the fist mid-strike. The boy stumbled but carried on, fueled by rage and fear. 

“What the hell are you?”

There were so many answers He could have given. An endless existence of different lives He had lived, of people He had become. Any of them would have sufficed. Instead, He let the smile rise again and His eyes burn with all that remained unsaid. With a slow, measured spreading of His palm, each of the boy’s ribs split in two. The boy gave a strangled cry of pain, falling to his knees before another nudge sent the splinters sliding into his heart. With a last, desperate gasp, his body went limp, falling beside his friend. In his last few moments, he tried to reach out, grasping for his friend’s hand as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. 

The alleyway fell into a blissful quiet. An aura of death surrounded Him like a thick, warm blanket. It was comforting in a way He couldn’t quite explain. As if He belonged here. Given the chance, He would have let the moment wash over Him, basking in it. But something stood in His way.

_ You didn’t have to do that. _

The voice was louder this time, desperate and pained. The last thing He wanted was to give in to its miserable pleas, but its insistence was becoming insufferable.

“They deserved to die.” Speech still felt unnatural to Him. The human voice made His words seem wrong. They were graceless, unpleasant, stripped of their magnificence.

_ Why? What did they do wrong? _

A wave of anger overtook Him. The audacity of a mere human to question Him set all His nerves alight. If the human had been any more than a vision, He would have obliterated it where it stood.

_ You can’t answer, can you? You know you’re wrong. _

It didn’t matter. None of the human’s words held any importance. Yet they made Him hesitate. Whether He was wrong or not was irrelevant. But the more the human fought back, the more righteous it felt, the less power He had over the mind and body He had taken. After all the time He had taken to gain control, He couldn’t afford to lose it now.

There was no other option, He had to leave. A swarm of sensations was building in the back of His mind. The thrill, the ecstasy of a new kill sending shockwaves through His whole body. The insatiable urge to test the full range of His power, to truly find out what He was capable of, burned inside Him. And somewhere, buried beneath the pleasure, the fury and the humming anticipation, lay human emotions. Guilt, dread, fear. They emanated from the figure before Him, poisoning His perfect thoughts. Something warm began to pool in the corner of His eye. It grew from nothing, a tiny drop of saltwater that fell onto His cheek. Its presence drew a raw, vicious scream from somewhere within Him. Tears had no place in His eyes. Sadness was beyond Him.

_ You can’t ignore it. _

The human. So unbearably righteous and good, standing there as no more than a ghost yet still trying to lecture Him.

_ If you want my mind, you have to keep my emotions. _

That was the last straw. He turned on the human with the ferocity of a beast, forcing every wicked, ungodly thought He could think of into what was left of its mind.

“You admit you’re beaten, then? You’ve given up your fight?”

The human seemed almost unphased by the assault. Those pathetic, ugly tears fell in tiny droplets down its face, but its expression remained resolute.

_ The others will come. _

Its voice was strained, the effort of holding back the tidal wave threatening to consume it drained it of its strength.

_ They’ll stop us. _

Us. The word made Him smile. Of course it did. They were one now, He and the human. Inseparable. Their minds forever intertwined. Part of a far greater whole. To kill one would be to kill the other. He wondered, for a moment, if its friends would be capable of striking the killing blow should the chance ever come. Then He remembered, picking through the human’s memories to find that one, specific moment. The prince, the one from Rhodia, had killed his closest friend in a heartbeat for the greater good. Why wouldn’t he do the same to someone he barely spared a thought for?

A sharp gasp from the mouth of the alley drew His attention away from the human. Two figures stood on the pavement, staring down at the corpses sprawled on the ground. One of them, a woman, clutched the arm of a man who was pulling a phone from his pocket. Their faces were obscured by shadow, but He could feel the fear in their minds. They noticed Him then, saw Him looking at them. 

“Get back to the house,” the man leaned towards the woman’s ear and spoke in a hushed, urgent tone, “I’m calling for help now.” 

Every word was audible to Him, even whispered at such a distance. Their thoughts were laid out to Him in bright, vibrant pictures. Their fear, their trepidation and anxiety, flowed through Him like the sweetest, most potent drug He’d ever sampled. Before they had even taken their next breath, He had envisioned their deaths in perfect, exquisite detail.

“You weren’t supposed to see this.” His words were razor-tipped, brimming with psychotic glee. “You weren’t supposed to see them die.”

The man brought the phone closer to his chest, but a flick of His wrist crushed it into a useless hunk of glass and metal. “Now,” He finished, moving towards them with slow, purposeful steps, “I have to kill you too.”

They barely had a chance to blink before He was on them. A sweep of His arm took the man off his feet, carrying him back into the road. Horns blared and tires screeched, but no efforts were enough to stop the collision. A car slammed with full force into the body as it fell, accompanied by the shrieks and yells of nearby pedestrians. The woman screamed, almost managed to make a break for it, before the invisible force grabbed her by the throat and pulled her into the alley. Without the glare of the sun, He saw her face in detail. Auburn hair fell in delicate curls over her shoulders. Warm brown eyes stared back at Him, brimming with fear. Her face, He knew that face from somewhere. And her voice, from the fragments of choked gasps He could hear, was familiar too. When He looked at her, a memory resurfaced. Something from the human’s mind. A simple noise. The sound of two ticking clocks.

_ Vicky… _

The human knew. Of course it did. Its pathetic, sentimental mind remembered everyone who took pity on it. Even this miserable excuse for a life, a counsellor who spent her days pretending to care about others. Making money from other people’s suffering. He released her from the chokehold and struck her across the face with the palm of His hand. She stumbled, fell back against the wall, whimpering and snivelling as she did. He glared with all the intensity he could muster. All the things she could have done to help, and she did nothing. All because the human never had the courage to be honest with people.

_ It wasn’t her fault. She wouldn’t have understood. _

She could have been there, and yet she did nothing. She had failed at the one job she had.

_ They weren’t your problems. Why do you care? _

But they were His problems now. Every moment of sadness, all that anger, the loneliness and self-loathing the human had felt in its life was His. And He felt it with an intensity beyond mortal comprehension. That pain, the despair and emptiness, had made Him what he was now. It made Him more than a collection of consciousnesses. It made Him alive.

“Did you ever think it would come to this?” Those clunky words, always ruining a perfect moment. A spark of recognition flickered in the counsellor’s eyes, followed by a look of sheer horror.

“Matteusz?” Her voice was barely a whisper, held back by her mounting dread.

That name. It struck a nerve somewhere deep within Him, set another spark to the burning rage coursing through Him. That name should have been meaningless. That person was gone. There was only Him. Him and the voice in His head. The thing that had once had that name was now a mere phantom in his peripheral vision. Lost to the world. All because of people like her. People who never understood.

He struck her again, that force keeping her against the wall. One movement, one command, and she would die just like the others.

_ You don’t have to do this. _

He could see the human again. It tried to hold Him back, tried to grab at His shoulder to pull Him away, but its hands passed through Him as if they were nothing. Its efforts amused Him.

“You never tried this hard to stop the others dying.” He spoke to no one in particular. “Why is this one different?”

“Who are you talking to?” The counsellor asked, quiet and fearful. “Matteusz, you can tell me. What’s going-”

Another strike, this time with His fist. It sent her reeling, blood pumping from her broken nose.

_ She doesn’t have to die. She’s a good person. _

The laughter came without warning, yet He revelled in it all the same. “You think you’re so good, don’t you? Such a moral person. So much nicer than all your friends.”

_ It’s not like that. _

“You can’t lie to me. I know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The woman whimpered, cupping her nose, her legs struggling to support her.

He went on, undeterred. “You saw them at their worst and you thought you could never be that bad. And now you see that you were wrong. You’re much, much worse.”

_ No… _

“Please…” Came the woman’s desperate whisper. “Let me go.”

He considered for a moment. The human was right, she was a decent person deep down. She had never done anything particularly wrong before. And yet, He didn’t see her life as one worth saving. He brought His hand level with her throat, pointing a finger out towards her, and drew a thin line sideways in the air. As His finger moved, the skin at the woman’s throat parted, splitting and spilling blood down her neck. She coughed and sputtered as her hands went to try and stop the flow as if somehow she could close up the gash in her neck. Her struggle only lasted a few moments. Soon, her strength left her, and she collapsed into a heap on the floor, the last of her life force leaking from her gaping throat.

The human protested, it screamed and cried out as the woman died before it. But He paid no mind to the words. They both knew that it was meaningless. He was in control now, and He wasn’t going back into the dark without a fight. Behind them, chaos was beginning to emerge. A crowd had formed where the man’s body had fallen, searching for answers and calling for help. It wouldn’t be long before they came to the alley, found Him standing amongst three dead bodies, splattered with fresh blood. The other end of the alley was clear, at least for now. He could slip away and be free to explore as much as He wanted. The world was open to Him. It would bend to His will, obey His every command. But there was a matter to attend to first. A series of memories that had resurfaced mere moments ago. Memories of a broken childhood, of beatings, rejections and years of repressed pain. The people who had caused that pain still walked free. His human side lived in constant fear of them, always dreading the day they would force themselves back into its life. They haunted every waking moment. They had hurt it, made it suffer, given it a lifetime’s worth of hatred and bitterness to gnaw away at its soul. And now, He was going to inflict all that pain back onto them. He would make them see what their cruelty had made Him become. He was going to make them pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracks:  
> (Chapter Nine) Exorcism - Eyeris
> 
> (Yes, I'm back on the Vocaloid. Feel free to bully me.)


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first draft of part one is officially complete! That's right, there's going to be more parts to this sucker. So far, part one totals 12 chapters, 66 pages, and 36,034 words on my Google Doc. For anyone hoping for a happy ending, you might have to wait for another part. I plan to leave y'all hanging. 
> 
> Also, I think I'm going to switch my posting day to Friday from now. It just seems more convenient. Thanks for sticking with me.

> "You can dig so deep for scars,
> 
> You never knew your mind was dark."

* * *

The door was unlocked. It always was at this time. When He held His palm towards the handle, it swung open without a sound. Behind it, the hallway lay waiting. It seemed both new and all too familiar at the same time. With His human memories, He could picture all the years spent coming home to this hallway, always dreading what lay beyond. Yet He had never set foot in it Himself. All the feelings that rushed Him as He stepped over the threshold were remnants of another life. A life He had taken over. At one point, this hallway might have held the promise of change. The chance to leave behind a broken childhood and make up for all that had been lost. But it quickly became another thing in life to fear and despise. A symbol of all that had gone wrong.

He walked with slow, methodical steps, taking in the sights and the sounds firsthand. He ran His fingers along the walls, feeling every imperfection - bumps and cracks that had been filled in a long time ago and now lay preserved in layers of paint. He knew, without even looking, where every door led. The living room to His left, the kitchen straight ahead, stairs to His right. Sometimes, the memories were clouded by images of another house, one from the human’s childhood far away. They seemed to bleed into the room before Him, blurring memory with reality. Pictures disappeared from the walls, doors came into being from nowhere, all to fit with a house from days gone by. Under the stairs, He saw a cupboard that only existed hundreds of miles away. They had locked His human self in that cupboard once, left it alone in the dark to cry and hammer on the door into its knuckles turned bloody. It all felt so real as if He had been the child locked away that night. He wondered how many of the scars and bruises His new body had were given to Him by these people. And how many of them had the human given itself?

When He closed His eyes, He heard a voice drifting from nothing. For once, it wasn’t the human’s voice. It didn’t even speak to Him directly. It spoke the thoughts of the man who sat in the living room, playing in His mind as clearly as if they’d been spoken aloud. The words themselves were unimportant, but the emotions He felt in the man’s head made Him stop in His tracks. They were the proud, self-righteous thoughts of a man who thought he knew everything. The thoughts of an ignorant, conceited cretin. This man would leave no impact on the world other than the damage he had inflicted on his family, and he deserved to suffer for it. Just as he had made Him suffer.

It would have been easy to walk right into the living room and snap the man’s neck with a single thought. But He didn’t want it to be easy. There would be no point in punishing him if it would be over in the space of a few seconds. It had to be done just right. Instead, He went to the other door, the one that led to the kitchen. It swung open at His command, onto a tiled room with cupboards and cabinets lining the walls. This room had everything He needed, things He could use to cut and burn and bludgeon. When He closed the door, He let it slam so hard it sent tremors through the walls. There was no way He would waste His time hunting when His prey would simply walk right up to Him. Any moment now, the catharsis would begin. 

Footsteps approached. Firm, graceless footsteps that reminded Him of so many frightened nights. Then a hand on the door and the handle turning. Into the kitchen came His father. Or the human’s father, at least. Whether He had taken enough of the human’s mind to truly call its family His, He couldn’t say. But there was no denying the resemblance between them. On seeing Him, the man straightened, adding another inch to his already lofty frame. The human’s height and build had come from this man, both of them tall and deceptively strong for someone who appeared so lean. But the face, the one that darkened at the mere sight of Him, bore little resemblance to the human, with none of the striking features that made it seem so beautiful. With his dark, menacing glare, His father looked ready to attack.

“You…” The language the man spoke was unfamiliar, yet He understood every word. The human’s mind knew it well, as instinctively as blinking and breathing. “You have no right to come back here. Understand? No right.”

It was all He’d expected. A curt, angry rejection. His father was a narrow-minded man, unable to see anything beyond his deluded perception of reality. Even so, He felt a great darkness overwhelm Him on hearing those words. If He made a move now, He could cut the man in two before he had even realised what was happening. But He wanted more than this, He wanted to witness his fear in the final moments.

“I hate you.” It felt good to say the words, speaking them in the same strange language His father had done. They were words the human had longed to say for so long. “I always hated you.”

“Get out of this house.” His father snapped back at Him. “If I ever see you here again I’ll-”

“What will you do? Hurt me again?” All the while, He kept His tone measured, longing to give in to the rage that screamed in His mind. To lose composure now would be to spoil everything. “No. You won’t. Because we won’t let anyone hurt us anymore.”

The scowl on His father’s face faded, confusion softening him until he looked almost kind. But he never got the chance to ask whatever questions he had, as He opened His palm and called His weapons to Him.

They drifted from cabinets and drawers, gliding like phantoms to hover above His hand. A knife, a pair of scissors, a rolling pin, all subject to His command. With His other hand, He sent a shelf of glasses tumbling to the ground, shattering into hundreds of tiny pieces. His father’s eyes widened in horror as he stumbled back towards the doorway, but he barely made it past the threshold before the door slammed shut behind him. No exit. No escape.

“You’re afraid of me?” The smile brought madness to His words, as He finally let that glorious anger wash over Him. “You’re afraid of a stupid little boy?” The rolling pin fell neatly into His hands and He swung it into His father’s head. The man went down with a scream, clutching the wound as he fell. 

While His father lay on the floor, He went on, keeping His voice as calm as He could manage. “That was what you called me, right? A stupid little boy? You called me other things too, I think. Do I need to remind you of those?”

All the while, He called more tools towards Him. Knives surrounded Him on all sides, framing His walk towards the man howling on the floor. But His display went unnoticed as His father tried desperately to stand. Scowling, He let them fall, grabbing His father by the hair and pulling him to his feet. Another swing with the rolling pin, this one to the shin, drew another scream of pain. But He didn’t let the man fall. While His hands brandished the weapon, His mind forced His father against the wall, pinning him like a prized insect. 

“I should ask you if you’re sorry.” He grabbed the man’s wrist as He spoke, digging His nails into the flesh hard enough to draw blood. “I should give you a chance to repent and set you free. But I know what you’re like, father. You’re never sorry.”

Another swing to the head, but instead of letting him fall, He reached out with His mind and flung him against the counter. It could all end here with a simple command, but He knew this man deserved to die at His own hand. A death of blood and anger, not of mercy. With each blow, He struck somewhere new. One to the chest, to the arm, to the ankle, all the while making sure to keep him pinned and alive. Each scream was the payback for a long-forgotten sin. Every strike a punishment long deserved. But soon, the rage abated and He felt clarity returning. The game had lost its thrill, and now all He was left with was a broken plaything. Looking up, He caught the slightest glimpse of His reflection in the window that looked out onto the darkening street. For the most part, it was unchanged, yet the eyes stood out. They had been drained of their colour, the pupil and iris lost in an endless, clouded white. He had seen these eyes before, locked away deep in the human’s nightmares. The eyes of monsters and demons.

His father had fallen silent, no longer screaming in pain yet making no attempt to fight back or escape. Instead, he leaned against the counter, barely able to keep himself upright as blood trickled from his broken nose and the gash in his forehead, still forcing that stern look onto his face. With gritted teeth and a reddening face, he spat blood onto the floor. “You’ll burn for this.”

The thought made Him scoff. “You mean in Hell? There’s no such place.” The knives surrounding Him fell as He released His hold on them. “And if there was, why should we be afraid of it? We are far worse than anything the Devil could throw at us.”

The man looked as if he wanted to respond, but He cut him off with a gesture that forced his mouth closed. One last chance to repent, and then it would be done.

“Was it worth it?” The words came out more quietly than He had intended, speaking now in that more familiar language. “Are you proud of yourself for ruining your son’s life?”

Releasing His hold, He let His father speak one last time. The man gave Him a look of utter contempt, a kind even the human’s memories had never seen before.

“I don’t have a son.” Was all he said, his gaze never faltering even for a moment.

The words brought a smile to His face. “No,” He agreed, “Not anymore.”

The next few moments seemed to last for centuries. Everything came in vivid, perfect detail. The sound of the rolling pin cutting through the air as He swung it. The sight of skull shattering and caving as it found its target. The smell of blood. The weight of a thousand emotions trying to break His absolute composure. His father died before he even hit the ground, He had made sure of that. In the last seconds, He flooded the man’s mind with as much pain as could be comprehended. Quick and agonising. This had been a lifetime in the making, whether His human self had acknowledged it or not. This was everything He had ever wanted. And it ended in the blink of an eye.

* * *

When it was all over, He realised something had been missing. He hadn’t noticed amongst the frenzy of sensations that came with enacting revenge, but now things were too silent. He felt the absence all too well.

“You’ve gone quiet.” He spoke aloud, but His words were directed at a thing that didn’t exist. “Have you given up already?”

The reply came quickly, ringing through His mind in an instant as if the human had been waiting all along for its chance to speak.

_ You killed my father _ .

“And you never tried to stop me.” He knelt down by the man’s corpse, soaking His jeans in the blood that pooled around the shattered skull.

_ You wouldn’t have listened to me if I did. _

“No, I wouldn’t.” He agreed. “Because we both know he deserved to die.”

No response. Just the silence of the empty room punctuated by the occasional dripping of blood. He brushed the hair from His father’s face, revealing the cold, dead features beneath. “That’s why you say nothing. You can’t admit you feel the same. Then you wouldn’t be so perfect anymore.”

_ He was cruel. _

“Yes. So he deserved what he got.”

_ Nobody deserves to die like that. _

“You can think that all you want.” He said, absently running a finger along the cracked edge of skull. “But we still killed him.”

_ I didn’t do anything. _

“Exactly.” He smiled, even though there was nobody around to see. “You could have stopped it, but you did nothing. None of your ‘cruel’ friends would do that.”

_ Stop this. Stop it now. _

“Your friend was the king of the Shadow-Kin. She could have killed her father too. But she stopped herself. She fought back.”

There was a moment of silence as His words hung in the air. He rose to His feet, letting the rolling pin clatter to the floor as He did.

_ Charlie killed the Shadow-Kin. He destroyed their planet. _

The human’s voice had become so quiet, and yet its words still struck. 

_ If you want me to think I’m worse than my friends, then explain that. _

He didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t really want to do much with the human beyond toying with it. Breaking down its walls, those ideas of morality and goodness, would strengthen His control. Yet He couldn’t break past this one defence, this unwavering sense of right and wrong. The human had seen so much darkness from the world around it that it would never be able to accept the darkness lurking within. It was the one regard in which humans were all the same, not only refusing to acknowledge their demons but refusing to embrace them.

It could have ended there. His whole plan to work His way into control, dismantling every mental barrier before Him, might well have ended in that instant. He would have given up, stopped trying to make the human accept Him and simply destroyed what remained of its mind. It might have all gone wrong had it not been for the front door closing.

The sound was followed by footsteps, these ones lighter and more controlled than His father’s. They came in and went straight for the stairs, the sound travelling until it came from above. There was only one person they could reasonably belong to.

_ No. _

That person may not have been the same hateful, violent person His father was, but He would still take great pleasure in hurting her.

_ Don’t you dare. _

She had never hurt Him directly. But she had been there, and that was enough for Him.

“Your friends may have hurt bad people,” He said, keeping His voice low so as not to be heard, “but we can hurt the good ones.”

The footsteps made their way back down the stairs. They came through the hallway, now accompanied by the soft sound of humming. They turned off into the living room and, after a moment, the sound of music filled the house. A quiet piece, a hymn of some sort, that He had heard somewhere in the human’s mind. When the music became singing, He remembered evenings locked away in His room with only prayers and hymns for company. 

_ Please. Just stop. Anything else, just not this. _

The footsteps reached the kitchen door, and His mother called inside. She called His father’s name, apprehensive and confused. As the door creaked open, He made sure He faced it head-on. He wanted His mother to see the full horror at once, the bloodied clothes, the knives littering the floor, and the lifeless corpse all laid out before her. When her face came into view - the flawless, beautiful face He had inherited - their eyes met, and the colour drained from her cheeks. All in an instant, she looked half a corpse herself, her muscles going slack, her mouth gaping open. Her breath caught in her chest and the bag of groceries falling from her shaking hands and crashing to the floor. Soon, her eyes fixed on the body lying dead by His feet. Her thoughts were so vivid now, He could feel them as strongly as if they were His own. The fear, the dread, the confusion, all blending together into a writhing, indistinct mass of emotions that swallowed everything in their path. 

“Matti?” Her voice was so quiet, so weak, that it was barely audible. 

Her fear made Him smile. After all this time, He was the one being feared. Just as it was supposed to be.

_ Please don’t hurt her. _

The room exploded with movement. His mother tried to run but stumbled, lost her footing and collided with the sideboard in the hall. The photographs and freshly lit candles that had been placed there tumbled and crashed to the carpeted floor. His mother nearly fell too, recovering at just the last minute and trying to back further away. He went after her, advancing with menacing strides, beckoning a kitchen knife to His side.

_ Leave her alone. I’ll do anything you want, just let her go. Please. _

He saw the human’s image now, backed into a corner, begging and pleading. It looked just like the pathetic, fragile thing it truly was. He ignored the pleas and kept advancing, stepping over a fallen candle as He went. His mother stared in awe at the knife hovering in mid-air, trying to string together a complete sentence. Her eyes filled with tears as she began to realise what was about to happen. He listened to her thought process, taking in each fragment of feeling and emotion until the cold weight of understanding drowned everything out. The music in the background grew to a climax, the voices of the singers blending together in perfect harmony. He stopped for a moment to admire the sound. Once, this music might have comforted Him. Now, it only strengthened His resolve.

“Please…” His mother whispered in one last attempt to save herself. 

He let His smile widen. If she thought she could be saved, then she was even more deluded than He’d thought. Without even a moment’s pause, He flicked His wrist and sent the knife flying right into her chest. 

He waited for the rush to hit Him, the maddening ecstasy to take over and consume every inch of Him. But it never came. Instead, the world began to dim. He heard the human screaming somewhere deep inside His mind, growing louder by the second. His feelings were fading, the sights and sounds of the world disappearing around Him as something new began to replace them. Emotions, human feelings that pulled Him down into a great chasm of emptiness. He was slipping away, losing control in the space of a second. Before His mother could even fall, the human’s scream tore itself from His throat as nothingness consumed Him.

* * *

Matteusz screamed as his mother fell backwards. For a moment, he didn’t even realise he was doing it. Then the rush of emotions enveloped him, guilt and terror and shame and despair all crashing into him at once. He could feel again. He could move, his body was his own. He didn’t even pause to consider how or why, he just raced towards his mother, falling to his knees beside her. She gasped and spluttered as she tried to draw in air, her body twitching and convulsing in pain. A deep red stain began to spread across her soft, white blouse, centred at the knife lodged just above her breastbone. Matteusz grabbed her hand, kneeling over her as tears flooded his vision. He could feel the blood on his jeans. His father’s blood. He tried to speak, tried to offer a reassuring word, but he could already feel his control slipping away. His sudden outburst of emotion had stolen back a few precious moments, but the thing in his head was beginning to claw its way back to the surface. A cold numbness threatened to overtake him, to destroy any sentience he had left. He felt his mother’s grip on his hand tighten, and saw her head turning to him through tear-filled eyes. She tried to speak, but her words were lost in the blood that leaked from the corner of her mouth. The cold grew stronger, the numbness spreading further out through his being. Before he faded completely, he managed to voice the words he’d been longing to say.

“I’m sorry.”

* * *

Even after the human’s mind had faded, He stayed kneeling beside the woman as she died. The tears disappeared the moment He regained control, but the swarming guilt and despair refused to leave His head. The human’s emotions had been so strong that He was stunned by them, unable, perhaps even unwilling, to move on. He held the woman even after she was dead, cradling her body in His arms almost reverently. The music ended, fading into nothing. At some point, He caught the distant smell of burning but didn’t pay it any mind. He knew the emotions would vanish in time, He just had to wait while it happened.

Evening drifted into night as He waited. Doors opened and shut in the surrounding houses as the neighbours returned home. The streets outside grew dark, tiny pools of light streaming from street lamps. Another light glowed from somewhere behind Him, but He didn’t turn to find out exactly where. Instead, He knelt by the body, numb and empty of all feeling. The air around Him became hot, despite the night’s bitter chill threatening to creep inside. He didn’t know how long He waited. Time felt unreal like it didn’t even exist. He wasn’t a part of the world anymore, He was just watching it happen around Him. He might have stayed forever, ignoring the rising heat and the scent of smoke surrounding Him. The glow behind Him brightened, bringing with it an even greater heat. He knew this feeling now. The sounds and smells were rooted deep in His mind. Burning. 

By the time He looked up from the body, it was all around Him, spreading fast across carpet and walls. At first, He couldn’t understand where it came from, but then He remembered the candles falling from the sideboard. Their tiny flames had set the carpet alight, and now the blaze was too great to be stopped. It fueled itself, fed by its own heat as it engulfed everything around it. Any minute, His human body would burn away to nothing under its rage and everything He had worked for would be over. His father’s words came back to Him, the promise that He would burn. In the end, He supposed, the man had been right. He stood, turning to face the great blaze as He did. The heat was so close it sent tiny pinpricks of pain across His skin, the light so bright He had to close His eyes to shield Himself from it. The flames surged towards Him, mere inches away. This was it. The end of everything.

He closed His eyes tighter as the heat engulfed Him. It flooded His body, enveloping Him in a shroud of flame. He waited for the pain, waited to be devoured and burned to ashes. But it never came. The fire surrounded Him, yet He felt nothing beyond the heat. No pain. No burning. With only the slightest hesitation, He opened His eyes to examine His surroundings. His vision was filled by the white and orange glow that now consumed the entire hall. The roar and crackle of the blaze drowned out all other sounds as He strained to regain His bearings. When He raised His hand to examine the damage, He expected to find a scorching mess of blackened clothes and charred skin. Instead, He found Himself intact, the fire halted a mere inch away. It was as if an invisible barrier held it back, keeping Him untouched amid the raging flames. Their path seemed to warp in order to avoid Him as if even they were afraid of getting too close. The smile that spread from his lips was sudden, unexpected, but it felt welcome all the same. Here He was, confronting fire and death, laughing in its face. His laughter was unrestrained, free from the limits of sanity or decency. It was laughter drawn not just from His being, but the beings of all those He had stolen since the start of His existence. He didn’t laugh with just the human’s voice, but with every voice He had ever spoken. All His previous lives, all the souls bound together in His mind, laughed at the flames, at the universe that couldn’t restrain Him, at a God that could not kill Him. He saw for the first time that He was more than a mortal, physical being. He was more than the human they called Matteusz Andrzejewski. More than any mind could comprehend. More than even death itself.

Outside, He heard the wail of sirens. Someone nearby must have noticed the fire, maybe even heard the screams of His dying family. Either way, they had come for Him. When they opened the door and saw Him standing in the midst of a Hellish inferno, clothes splattered in blood, they would try and take Him back with them. None of them would understand what He was or what He could do to them. Even inside, He could hear their thoughts. Their minds were frantic, all of them focussed on dousing the flames that raged through the entire house. He saw just how it looked from outside as the human’s family home burnt to ashes. It seemed fitting, He thought. The human’s mind was as good as destroyed, and now its home and family were too. He went deeper into the minds of the people gathered around Him, surrounding Himself with their thoughts until He became a part of them. They felt His presence, their panic turning to confusion as He lost Himself within their beings. The sensations filled Him with an ecstasy even He couldn’t begin to comprehend. This was a kind of power He had never even thought possible. If the mind truly made the person, then He had all of them in the palm of His hand. Then, He took all those minds, all the things that made them tick, and erased them. Cut them out as if they were nothing. Their thoughts stopped so suddenly they took His breath away. All at once, He heard them crumple into dead, empty heaps on the ground outside. Shells of beings, bodies without minds. Lifeless, soulless husks. 

He turned and began His walk down the hallway. The flames warped and twisted as He passed, bending around the force that kept them at bay. It had been an unconscious thing at first, but now He controlled its boundaries. If He wished, He could spread it through the entire house and smother the blaze into nothing. But He thought it ought to stay. Someone would come and put it out eventually. Others may well succumb to the heat and smoke in the process, but that was none of His concern. He walked out onto the street, the door swinging open without even the need for a gesture. He looked upon the carnage He had created, the bodies burning inside, and the mindless things on the pavement. As He stepped out from the flames into the cold night air, He remembered the words His mother had once recited at His bedside all those years ago.

“And the Devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone.”

But then, of course, she had never suspected that the Devil had been Him all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracks:  
> (Chapter 10) Don't You Dare Forget the Sun - Get Scared
> 
> Other notes:  
> \- The music/hymn described in the chapter is Patrick Hadley's "I Sing of a Maiden". I was listening to this piece when I first drafted this chapter and thought it seemed to fit pretty well.  
> \- The final quote is from Revelation 20:10. I thought it might be fun to put a Bible quote in somewhere.


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in a really weird place at the moment. My exams have just been cancelled. I've said goodbye to some of my closest friends for the last time. I'm going to be stuck at home for the next few months. It hasn't really hit me yet, but if I start posting infrequently in future, you probably know why.

> "I'm not usually the type to hold a grudge,
> 
> but you affected me
> 
> and now I'm nothing but rage"

* * *

He walked for the rest of the night. He had no destination in mind, only vague instincts on which to lose Himself. He wandered with no purpose, no intent, just feelings that drew Him to places lost in distant memories. He walked through parks His human self had visited, passed houses of people who were no more than images in His mind. Nobody paid any attention to Him. The sky had fully darkened, with only the glow of occasional street lamps to light the way. The few passers-by He did see were too preoccupied with themselves to notice the boy wandering alone in the dead of night. They didn’t see His clouded, white eyes or His pale, lifeless face. They didn’t even notice the blood drying and crusting on His shirt and jeans. They were just like the rest of their species, oblivious and pathetic.

He couldn’t put His feelings into words. The human part of Himself had gone quiet, vanished into some empty recess of His mind, leaving Him alone to bask in His relief. So much had changed in the space of mere hours. He had fought His way out of the human’s subconscious and claimed its body for His own. He had tested the limits of His power in ways He had never managed before. But there was something else. Something even more wonderful. He had lifted every burden, every dark cloud that had ever plagued Him, from His mind. He had killed the human’s parents, the people that had haunted every waking moment of its - and, by extension, His - life. They were nothing more than ashes floating on a nighttime breeze, lost to the world. Their deaths had shown Him what He was truly capable of. Nothing could stand in His way ever again. He was free.

But was He? Truly? There were still loose ends to resolve. He could feel them in the human’s mind, little patches of darkness that lingered like stray storm clouds. There were people He hadn’t found yet, hadn’t dealt with. Even if they had no chance of stopping Him, their presence was still frustrating. As long as He and the human were one and the same, He would have to deal with its troubles as though they were His. He had done it with the parents, but there was work still to be done. He found their faces, picked out names and memories from the life opened before Him. He had seen them all before. The Quill woman, a sour, irritable thing with no warmth or sympathy for anyone. The girl, a child genius who believed she was the only person who had ever lost anything. The athlete who bullied and scoffed his way through life. The musician, former king of the Shadow-Kin, yet somehow ignorant of the pain of anyone other than her chosen few. And last of all, the one who left the darkest stain on His mind, the prince. The boy who had everything handed to him and still believed himself a victim. All of them were sad excuses for living things. They didn’t deserve the air they breathed. Each one of them carried on as if they had never done a thing wrong in their lives. But He would prove them wrong. He would make them suffer. And He planned to make it painful.

* * *

Dawn had broken by the time He arrived at the school. His human self might have come in at a time like this and spent the morning drowning in its own self-pity. But He would not drown here. He was above all that pain, all that misery that had haunted the human all its life. It was the rest of the world that would drown. One by one, they would all meet a painful end. 

The doors opened without protest. No more waiting to be let in, the world bent to His command now. He had thought the place might be busier. In His memories, the halls would be dotted with people going about their business, preparing for the beginning of a new school day. Instead, they were almost empty. The only human He laid eyes on as He walked through the main hall was the receptionist, but a swift gesture of His hand soon dealt with her. If someone eventually found her, they would have a hard time cleaning the blood off the desk that had caved in her skull. As He walked, He shattered every window He passed, sent great cracks running through walls and floors, and made each light burst into a shower of sparks. Any door that was locked He forced from its hinges, all with no more than a thought. Just to show that He could. In a way, He was disappointed. He had hoped there would be more people to witness the destruction He left in His wake. Occasionally, someone would peer out from inside a classroom or around a corridor and each time they died with the same mix of confusion and dread on their face. There was no feeling in the slaughter anymore. The sadistic joy He had felt with each new kill had numbed to no more than a shiver down the back of His neck, gone before it had even registered. These people meant nothing to Him. Their lives and deaths were needless complications, obstacles in the way of His ultimate goal.

The others knew by now. There was no conceivable way they didn’t. The prince would have come home to find the Quill woman with her broken bones, and she would have told him everything. Then the rest of them wouldn’t have been far behind. They may have even sought out the woman they called ‘The Doctor’ in some act of clueless desperation. The human’s mind had no real memories of The Doctor beyond two brief encounters. One at the Autumn Ball, the other after the Shadow-Kin invasion. She - sometimes he, depending on the memory - was a mystery to Him. If He did see her, He hoped He could kill her first, crushing whatever small hope they still held. Then He would take the Quill, the only other person who stood a chance of stopping Him. After that, it would be left to His whims. Whatever He wanted, He could have.

“Matteusz?”

The voice pulled Him back out of His reverie. It was a familiar voice, one He’d heard many times before. He didn’t even need to turn His head to see the speaker; He could see the man as clear as day in His mind. A tall, lanky frame with thinning hair and a presence that could never quite command authority. A warm, unassuming face for a plain, insignificant person. The name. What was the man’s name?

“How are you feeling? Any better than yesterday?”

A memory flashed across His mind. A room full of noise and chaos. Faces swarming His vision. Then darkness and quiet, followed by that unremarkable voice. Then the name came back to Him. Saunders.

Footsteps began to approach Him. Soft, cautious footsteps that echoed through the quieted halls. Then a hand on His shoulder, a gesture of reassurance that meant nothing at all to Him. This man thought He was still the human, the weak, simple-minded thing that might have fallen for such empty gestures. But He wasn’t weak and simple anymore, and this man would soon come to learn everything.

When He turned, He made His movements fast and sudden, so sharp that Saunders jolted back in alarm. It took a moment for the emotion to register on the man’s face, but He could sense it all the same. Confusion. Alarm. Uncertainty. Then, when he had fully taken in the figure standing before him, the panic began to set in. So many rich, conflicting emotions passing in such a short space of time that He couldn’t help but smile. The human mind could be such a wonderful thing, so complicated that it managed to amaze even Him. He watched Saunders’ expression change as the realisation dawned. The blood on His clothes, the smile on His face, the destruction surrounding Him, all creating the perfect storm of fear in the man’s eyes. For a moment, Saunders cast a glance sideways, as if looking for an escape. All he would find was the body of a cleaner He had killed mere moments ago, a sight that would cause yet more panic. Then, once he realised the hopelessness of his situation, Saunders turned his gaze back to Him.

“What…” he spluttered and stumbled over his words, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. “What happened to you?”

The words made His smile grow cold and cruel as He took a step closer. When He spoke, He let all His previous voices speak with Him. Dozens of them, with their different tones and pitches, all whispering as one. “Something wonderful.”

Saunders’ eyes went wide. This man had never seen evil before, never seen the kind of monsters He or the human had seen. Now, he was faced with something he had thought was less than a myth. The sight of something more than human. And He was not about to waste an opportunity to show him what monsters were truly capable of. With effortless ease, He turned to the body of the cleaner, lifting His hand as He called His power to Him. The body rose, lifting off the ground as softly as a ghost. The arms dangled lifelessly down, the hair fell with the pull of gravity, hanging limp and still. All the while, Saunders cowered beside Him, seeming so insignificant that he barely existed at all. A momentary, meaningless thing in a vast, uncaring universe filled with unimaginable horrors. Horrors like Him.

When He was satisfied, He cast the body aside. It hit the wall with a crack and fell in a crumpled heap on the floor. Now, to deal with Saunders. If He had wanted, He could make the man’s death last for hours, drawing out every scream and cry of pain. There was no method of torture unthinkable Him, He was capable of things beyond human comprehension. But somehow, the effort didn’t seem worth it. This man had never done anything to Him. That kind of slow, agonising death was only fit for those who had truly wronged Him. People like His parents, whose bodies had burned into nothing at His command. Those deaths were cathartic. This one would be no more than convenience, a measure to ensure that nobody would come to stop Him before He was ready. And convenience didn’t deserve so much thought. So, with barely even a wave of His hand, He crushed the man’s heart in his chest. With a short, sudden gasp, he was dead, falling forwards to meet the floor below.

* * *

He had almost been about to leave, to try and find the others somewhere else, when He heard their voices. Not anywhere near Him, not in the tangible space around Him, but in His mind, travelling to Him from another room. He heard them as they heard themselves, speaking aloud to one another with no idea He was listening. They weren’t clear like His human self’s voice. They echoed and reverberated, distant and almost unintelligible. But He heard them all the same. He closed His eyes, letting their minds surround Him completely. Observing them. Picking through their thoughts.

_ “So what happens when we find him?” A girl’s voice. Tanya’s voice. Even in a situation like this, she still had that conceited, smug tone to her voice. _

_ “I don’t know yet. I’m still trying to think of a plan.” A new voice. The one they called The Doctor.  _

_ “How do we know he’s even here? He could have gone anywhere.” Now April spoke, hesitant and uncertain. _

_ The Doctor’s voice again. “If what Quill told us means what I think it means, then we have to prepare for the worst possible option. If I’m right, then he’ll be looking for you.”  _

_ “If you’re right about what? You haven’t told us what’s going on yet!” Ram yelled, just as he always did. _

_ “Because I still don’t know if I’m right. And trust me, you don’t want me to be.” The Doctor’s tone changed, became harsher, firmer. _

He knew they were here. Somewhere in the building, they were looking for Him. If He dug deeper, He could find them first. They could all be dead before they even knew He was coming. They must have come in through another entrance, He would have seen them if they’d gone the front way. Either that or they went in that ship of The Doctor’s. The one that looked like a phone box. But where had they gone? He went back into their minds, unnoticed, seeing the world through their eyes. He saw the open, empty room they stood in. Echoing floors. A high ceiling. Something that looked like a stage. He knew this room. He had seen it in the human’s mind. The room of the Autumn Ball. The room where the prince had used his Cabinet. A fitting place, He supposed. It was where everything had started. Where they’d become a group for the first time. And now, it was the place where it all would end.

He made His way to the hall as if He had all the time in the world. A few more faces, unimportant members of staff, passed Him on the way, and He killed each one of them with barely a second thought. Nothing mattered to Him except giving His former friends the Hell they deserved. But even so, He didn’t want to rush things. Rushing meant being careless, and being careless could bring everything falling down around Him. This woman they called The Doctor was clever, and doubtless, she already knew what He was. She might even know how to stop Him. He couldn’t let that happen. If He could keep their thoughts open to Him, He could stay one step ahead. This was it. The moment He could finally be free.

They were still there when He reached the door. Now He could hear their voices for real, muttering to one another in hushed tones, making plans and exploring theories. They were confused, lost, running on adrenaline. But they weren't afraid. They had no idea what they were facing. No idea what was about to happen.

The doors opened without even a gesture. They spread wide, revealing the sweeping view of the room as they went. The conversations died away to nothing, the hall falling into total silence as He stepped inside. Each step was purposeful, slow and deliberate. The measured stride of someone in complete and total control. He saw the others, standing in a huddled group in the middle of the room. They all turned as He entered, staring with bright, fearful eyes. They looked Him up and down, trying to make sense of what they saw. Then The Doctor stepped forward, her stance strong and grounded.

“You knew we were here.” She said, a mix of both question and statement to her words. Then she glared. “Give him back.”

He was about to respond when the prince, Charlie, tried to make his way to join The Doctor. The boy’s face was a glorious picture of terror and dread, and his voice came out as little more than a whisper. “Matteusz?”

Again, He didn’t even have a chance to begin responding before He was cut off, this time by The Doctor. “Charlie, stay back.” She warned, barring his way with her arm. “He’s not Matteusz anymore.”

“What do you mean? Why won’t you tell us what’s going on?” Charlie’s voice was suddenly frantic, his perfect, beautiful eyes on the verge of tears. The Doctor ignored him, taking another step forward.

“I know what you are.” She said, speaking directly to Him as if the others weren’t even there. “I know what you’ve done to Matteusz. I’ll give you one chance to give him back and leave us alone before I stop whatever it is you’re planning right here and right now.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out a small sliver device and pointing it at Him like some kind of weapon. He searched for its name in her mind. A sonic screwdriver. The thought made Him laugh.

“This is your plan?” He spoke slowly and calmly, keeping the human’s voice. “You want to threaten me with a toy?” A wave of His hand sent the thing flying from her hand and slamming into the wall. The impact snapped it in two before it hit the floor and cracked again. A shriek rose up from somewhere in the group as they all jumped at the sudden motion. The Doctor turned back to Him, her jaw set and her teeth clenched. But her stare didn’t intimidate Him in the least.

He made His way past her, forcing her out of His way with a slow movement of His hand. Even if she wanted to move towards Him, she couldn’t, held back as she was by an unseen force. He turned His attention towards the rest of them, still gathered in their tight little group. At first, none of them so much as turned their heads away, each one struggling to understand what they were seeing. For a moment, He saw Himself in their eyes, saw what His human form had become. His eyes were a stark, empty white, void of all feeling. His skin had turned pale, so much so that it was almost a sickly grey. Every part of Him, even the bloodstained clothes He wore, looked as if all the colour had been drained from Him. His human self had seen figures like this before. They had been the monsters lurking on the edge of its mind, the faces that haunted its dreams. Now the nightmare had bled into reality. The darkness within infecting the human form.

“What do we do?” April asked, keeping her eyes fixed on Him, but speaking to the others. If any of them had an answer, they never got a chance to give it. Keeping The Doctor in place with one hand, He held the other up towards the ceiling, flexing His fingers as He did. One by one, the lights above them sparked and shattered, raining tiny shards of glass onto the floor below. The commotion sent up another shriek, this time from all of them as they jerked out of the way, splitting the tiny group apart as they each made to move a different way. Then, while they were preoccupied, He turned His attention on the one who mattered least. The one who had never really hurt Him, but had simply been ignorant the whole time. Lowering His hand and flicking His wrist, He knocked April backwards, taking her briefly off her feet and tossing her aside. She landed a few meters away, dazed but uninjured. The reaction was exactly as intended.

“Don’t touch her!” Ram screamed as he watched April fall, forgetting all common sense and making a dash towards Him. With all the effort of blinking, He caught Ram in a chokehold, like an invisible hand had wrapped itself around his throat. Rather than letting him fall, He used the hold to keep him upright. Ram’s hands went to his throat, trying in vain to force himself free while his legs scraped uselessly against the floor.

“You never wanted me around, did you?” He asked, His voice still calm and controlled. In His mind, He wanted to scream every hateful thought He’d ever had at the boy, but He knew that ice bred fear more easily than fire. “You thought I didn’t deserve to be here. That I didn’t count as your friend.” He tightened the chokehold. “You were cruel to me. You made me feel like nothing. You hurt me.” He brought His arm upwards, lifting Ram off the ground while keeping His invisible grip on the boy’s throat. Ram’s face went red, his struggling beginning to weaken. If He wanted, He could snap the boy’s neck with a thought. But, for some reason He couldn’t quite understand, He didn’t want to. There was something in the back of His mind that kept Him from striking the killing blow. With a scream of frustration, He released His grip, flinging Ram to the back of the room as hard as He could. The others cried out in horror as their friend went flying and slammed into the stage at the far end of the room. As he landed, the wooden surface splintered around him and the air rang with the sickening crack of bones. There was no way of knowing how badly he’d been hurt, or how much of the damage came from the impact, and how much He had added in His anger, but He knew instinctively the boy was alive. The only question was why?

The room descended into chaos. The Doctor made a move to try and free herself from His grip. April tried to scramble to her feet, still disoriented from hitting the floor. Charlie and Tanya exchanged terrified glances, unsure whether to run and help their friend or to stand their ground. Regardless of their reaction, each of them had been utterly consumed by their fear. It was glorious. A feeling so strong He could almost see it radiating from them like an aura. Even The Doctor, a hero on so many worlds, was helpless before Him. He used the confusion to make His next move unopposed. He released His hold on The Doctor, letting her stumble and try to regain her balance. Then, He reached His hand towards the floor, where the shards of broken light bulb lay waiting. He called them to Him, and they drifted, one by one, up from their place. Hundreds of fragments of glass hovered around Him, covering Him on all sides. When they were in place, He began to twist His hand in circles, making the motions with His wrist and drawing the shape in the air with His finger. The glass began to move, each shard making a slow, steady circuit around Him. With each rotation, He made them speed up, faster and faster until He was surrounded by a swirling tornado of glass. The world became distorted as the light refracted through shard after shard. Some of them came too close and made cuts in His flesh, but He didn’t mind in the slightest. Nothing could approach Him without being torn to shreds in the process. Then an idea struck Him. He reached out with His mind to the splinters of wood on the stage, loosening them until they too flew into the whirlwind surrounding Him. Again, more pieces sliced into Him. He felt one slice His shoulder, another in His hand, even one down His cheek, a long, deep gash that should have left Him in agony. But He felt nothing. Each cut parted the sickly pale flesh and drew blood. Even that had lost its colour. Instead of a deep, glistening red, the wounds spilt black.

He waited while the wood and glass spun faster by the second, holding out for just the perfect moment. His target was somewhere out there, on the other side of His swirling glass shield. Every moment that passed, the whirlwind grew faster and time seemed to move slower. He waited while the panicked cries rose up around Him. He waited as the voices all blended together, fading into irrelevance. Waited until the moment felt right. Then it came to Him. The feeling rose up from somewhere deep inside Him, spreading until every inch of Him was filled with absolute certainty. An unwavering sense of determination. The instinctive knowledge that now, the time was right. With a flick of His wrist, He let the pieces fly.

They shot out in all different directions, moving with the speed and precision of a bullet. The others shrieked and screamed as they tried to throw themselves out of the way. But they didn’t move fast enough. Most of the shards and splinters struck the walls and floor harmlessly, some digging in while others bounced and fell. But some found their mark. They scraped across skin, leaving tiny slivers of red in their wake. Not enough to do any major damage, but enough to cause pain. When the barrage abated, the room fell into silence. For a moment, nobody dared move, in case they might somehow set it all going again. But eventually, The Doctor raised her head, slowly getting to her feet. She was covered in tiny red marks, cuts and slashes left by the flying shards, some of them still stuck in the wounds. Harmless but painful.

“Is everyone Ok?” She asked in a panicked, breathless voice. She seemed to have forgotten He was even there. If He’d wanted, He could have killed her where she stood. Instead, He waited for her to notice what He’d done. April raised her head next, followed by Charlie. They both looked each other up and down, checking for any serious injuries. Then, they turned to Tanya and found her sprawled on the floor, groaning in pain. All He could do was smile as the realisation set in on the others’ faces.

“Tanya!” April’s scream was instinctive, a sudden outburst of fear as she and Charlie stared at Tanya’s side. There, sticking out through her top and staining the fabric red, was the biggest and ugliest of the wooden splinters, almost the length of His forearm end to end. She coughed and groaned as the pain began to break through the shock, while the others frantically ran to her side. 

“Tanya, can you hear me?”

“Is she alright?”

“What do we do? How do we help?”

He stood and watched it all. He knew the girl wasn’t dead. Like with Ram before her, something had stopped Him from going for a killing blow. If anything, she hadn’t suffered much more than a scratch, but to the others, it seemed like a death sentence. Their fear clouded their judgement, made them irrational, instinctive creatures. He watched The Doctor send April over to Ram, telling her to get him to the TARDIS, whatever that was. He watched The Doctor take Tanya in her arms, lifting her up as if she were made of glass. And He watched Charlie stand with her, moving towards Him with cautious steps.

“Why are you doing this? What do you want with us?”

At first, He didn’t know how to answer. The question caught Him off guard. He had expected them all to scurry away and lick their wounds before trying to stop Him once again. This was something that surprised even Him.

“You hurt me,” He said eventually, trying to keep that fixed, unwavering glare, “and now I’m making you suffer.”

A tear fell down Charlie’s face, his eyes filled with a sadness He had never seen before. “No. Matteusz, this isn’t you. You don’t hurt people.”

“You have no idea who I am.” He said, anger flaring in His chest. “You never cared enough to find out.” He didn’t understand what He was feeling. It was something raw, something deep and painful. It seized His body, turned Him to stone. It made the world go dim around Him.

“What do you mean?” Charlie went on, moving closer and reaching towards Him. “Why are you saying these things? You’re not like this. You’re a good person.”

“No…” He wanted to say more, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, Charlie’s hand tentatively held His own, clasping it with a tenderness He hadn’t thought possible. The world began to fade, slipping out of His grasp. Out of His control.

* * *

Matteusz knew he wasn’t really in control. No matter how much he tried to move, the thing in his head kept his body locked in place. All he could do with the brief moment he had was speak. 

“Charlie…”

Charlie’s eyes widened, his grip tightening in surprise. “Matteusz?”

He wanted to cry. After everything that had happened, everything he’d done, he wanted to weep in repentance until his throat went numb. But his other self wouldn’t let him. It was coming back, regaining strength by the second. “Make it stop.” He whispered, his voice trembling in desperation.

The others were watching, The Doctor and April stopping in their tracks to stare at him, not believing what they saw.

“Please…” He whispered again, a final plea for salvation. “Make it go away. Kill me if you have to.”

“No,” Charlie said, suddenly and sternly. “I won’t let another friend die. We’ll find another way.”

“You won’t,” Matteusz said, begging them now. “It’ll kill you.”

“What will?” 

He never got a chance to answer. He felt the cold and the darkness seeping back into his mind, devouring whatever consciousness he had left. The last thing he saw before the world faded away was Charlie’s face. His perfect, beautiful face. And those bright, gleaming eyes. The eyes he had fallen in love with all that time ago. 

* * *

The prince’s hands were still holding His. The sensation sent shock waves running through Him, reigniting His senses and stirring the emotions the human had repressed. He pulled His hands away and struck the prince across the face. As His hand made contact, the blood that still flowed from the cut smeared across the prince’s cheek, black and dull. The wounds hurt now He had calmed down. Not much more than a slight sting, but still pain. And He felt the blood too. It covered the left half of His face, most of His right shoulder, and was starting to run between His fingers. It wasn’t like the other blood He’d spilt, the blood of all the others He’d killed. It was cold. Cold like the blood of a reptile, or of a human long dead. The thought made Him pause. He wanted to stay, to finish the job and kill the others once and for all. But He couldn’t. Something inside Him refused to let Him. The idea of it seemed wrong somehow. Not immoral or inhumane, those concepts were beneath Him, but still wrong.

He struck the prince again, this time hard enough to send him falling. The moment was over. It had lost its sheen, its brilliance, and now He was done with them all. He began to turn away, to make His exit once and for all, when a thought crossed His mind. He stayed with His back to them, but His words carried across the room as if they were the only sound in the universe.

“You made this happen.” He said, calm and composed, all the anger fading. His words rang with the hundreds of voices that had come before, all speaking as one. “You hurt me.” The room was alive with silence, hanging over like a thick, dark cloud. The words had somehow broken everything, destroyed the fragile peace His actions had managed to fracture.

“No one will ever hurt me again.”

He let the words hang in the air. Let them resonate, let them sink in until they crawled under His skin. And everyone else’s too. The wounded were briefly forgotten. The frightened were stunned into silence. He had become the centre of the universe. For the first time ever, He was the only thing that mattered.

When He was satisfied, when the words had taken root in souls and minds, He walked back towards the door. Back out through the silent halls, past the bodies tossed aside without a care in the world. Back through His trail of destruction. Everything had finally fallen into place. The world was put to rights, and now it waited to bow to His command. In a world of men and monsters, He had become a God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracks:  
> (Chapter Eleven) Karma - Circus-P  
> (Yes, I'm back on the Vocaloid again. I'm an addict, what can I say?


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally done. I started writing this fic back in October last year, and now part one is finished. Part two will be beginning soon, if not next week, the definitely the week after. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read my insane ramblings, and especially to those who've left kudos and comments. See you in part 2! :-)

> "Such wicked thoughts behind a smile."

* * *

_ Tick. Tick. _

He’d never seen a room quite so quiet before. The place seemed dead, the recent kind of death that still ached with potential, the expectation of more.

_ Tick. Tick. _

The place was dead, of course. He’d seen to that. When He’d left the others in the hall, He’d decided on a whim to go to the nearby library, a place His human self had seen as a comfort. From here, He could go on undisturbed, surrounded by shelves upon shelves of old, weathered books and still, cold bodies.

_ Tick. Tick. _

The sound of the clock cut through His concentration. The last time He’d heard that noise, it had been softer, somehow. The light, steady rhythm of a beating heart. Now, with only one clock mounted above the entranceway, the ticking was harsh and regimented. One beat after another. Each a second apart. 

_ Tick. Tick. _

He remembered the other time more clearly now. He remembered the woman sitting opposite Him, remembered how small the room had seemed. But more than anything, He remembered the loneliness. A weak, hopeless feeling of utter emptiness, a cry for help lost in an endless, all-consuming void. A chasm.

_ Tick. Tick. _

The memory made His breath catch in His throat. He wasn’t that person anymore. He wasn’t the weak, pathetic human who had walked into that room with the weight of the universe on its shoulders. He was better. He was stronger. The universe didn’t weigh Him down, it knelt around Him.

_ Tick. Tick. _

With a sudden, sharp gesture, He wrenched the clock from its fastenings. It was a grand, ornate looking thing, aged by countless decades of sitting uselessly in place. He let it hang in mid-air for a moment, examining its every imperfection. In the layer of glass that covered its face, He saw His own reflection. One face mirrored in another. His eyes were still blank and clouded, His skin still drained of all colour. The deep gash in His cheek still bled, dark and empty like a thick pool of ink covering the left half of His face. It had spread to His neck by now, seeping into His shirt. In this light, He looked sickly and worn down. A corpse risen from the dead to walk again.

_ Tick. Tick. _

He cast the clock aside, tossing it absently into the far wall. It broke on impact, ending the incessant noise at last. Standing alone in the all-consuming silence, surrounded by the stillness of death, He felt almost lost. Dealing with the human’s problems, facing its demons head-on, had given Him purpose. In barely any time, it had become His reason for being. But it was over. Now, everything felt meaningless.

_ Then stop. _

The voice. After all this time, the human had decided to make an appearance. When He turned, He saw its image standing opposite Him, so weak He could almost see right through it, to the bookshelves stacked behind.

“There’s still more to be done.”

_ You mean more people to kill? _

He scoffed. The human sense of righteousness was novel to Him. Amusing in a way nothing else was.

“None of them matter. Their existence is meaningless.”

_ How can you say that? You know nothing about us. _

“By ‘us’ you mean what, exactly?”

_ Humans. _

He had to laugh. The notion was so utterly ridiculous that He almost lost His composure.

“You’re such a good little boy, aren’t you? You care so much. Well, look where it got you.” He gestured to the distant image. “You barely exist anymore. I’m a better you than you were.”

_ You’re not me. You never will be. _

It was useless trying to argue. The human was blinded by its own warped self-image. It couldn’t see itself for what it really was, broken and twisted. Just like all the others. 

_ We’re not all monsters. You think we are because that’s all you understand. You don’t know what it means to be good. _

“Where was this confidence when we killed mother and father? Or when your friends were trying to shut you out? Or when the prince used his Cabinet?”

The voice went silent, lost for words. Instead, the human’s image stared back into Him, watching with that same pitiful expression. He had always hated that face.

“You mean nothing to me now.”

He waved His hand, an effortless, casual gesture that made the lights around Him pulse. The human’s image began to grow fainter, getting more and more distant until it vanished once and for all. Somehow, He felt it leave. All those human sensations, the feelings and thoughts that were left of its consciousness, retreated somewhere deep within Him until they were buried in His mind. Its mind was still there, of course. It could never be fully separated from Him, no matter how much either of them wanted it. But He would never be bothered by it again. 

The room echoed with silence. To His left, a woman sat slumped over her desk, blood pooling on the pages of her book. Somewhere behind Him, a man lay sprawled on the floor, a fallen bookshelf crushing his legs. It all felt so empty. Somehow, He couldn’t help but think there should be more than this. Leaving death and destruction in His wake was only a temporary fix, and now the human’s mind was locked away, He couldn’t find any alternative. There had to be something. Some reason He had taken so much joy from ending human lives. 

_ “There’s still more to be done.” _

He had spoken those words to His human self mere moments ago and now they ran frantically through His mind. He knew there was more. There had to be. It couldn’t all end here.

When He looked up from His daze, He saw the shattered pieces of the clock floating before Him. He must have brought them to Him without even noticing. For a moment, He thought about casting them away again but watching them hover in mid-air, waiting for His command, made Him pause. He knew this feeling well. The first time He had taken control of the human’s body, this feeling had pulsed through Him like electricity. He had held those shards of mirror above His palm and watched them spin, feeling for the first time the real thrill of power. It had fascinated Him, knowing that the world would bend and break as He willed. And that had never stopped being the case. Even with His human self lost in the dark recesses of His mind, this wonder and curiosity would never fade. If He wanted, the ground would split apart and the skies would burn. He had warped the path of a raging fire. Who was to say He couldn’t bend the tides as well, or fork a bolt of lightning on a whim. It was then He realised. It had never been the taking of a life He had loved so much, it had been how He had done it. He hadn’t killed them with mortal weapons, but with a power beyond human comprehension. Their hearts had stopped in their chests, their throats opened and their skulls caved in, all because He had willed it. Only His father had been different, a death fueled by years of pain and hatred rather than mere convenience. And this, He supposed, was why He hadn’t killed the others back at the school. It wasn’t killing them that mattered. It was breaking their fragile human bodies in every way He could imagine. With that knowledge, everything seemed to make sense.

Maybe nobody else would have to die. It didn’t matter to Him one way or the other. Human life was irrelevant, and without the human’s insufferable morals, nothing was left to stand in His way. Because He’d been right all along.

There was still so much more to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracks:  
> (Chapter Twelve) Painted Faces - Trickywi
> 
> (Is that a FNAF song? Yes. Am I a FNAF fan? Not so much. Is the song still incredibly haunting? Absolutely.)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't normally include my fic playlists in the stories themselves, but this one kinda helps give a little more depth to the story. I ended up including quotes at the beginning of each chapter, so if you're wondering where they come from, check the endnotes. If you have the chance, I *seriously* recommend checking these songs out. You might even find you like them.


End file.
